Lucifer's Garden
by psychobeautyqueen
Summary: No news isn't always good news. Session Eight: A Message From the Author
1. Ante Up

**Lucifer's Garden**

**A/N: Alright! A new story! This is about the third time I've replaced this chapter, so I hope you guys like it! This is technically a follow up to Gunshot Serenade, but I'm pretty sure you'll be able to understand it without reading GS. However, the situations and the characters won't be as deep or moving as they would otherwise be (Not that they're deep or moving in the first place... but I like to think they are). **

**Before you begin, there are a few things you might want to consider. The first is this: This story has a plot that assumes the ABSOLUTE worst possible outcome for Faye's storyline in the actual series. Yes, she has her memories, but they're sort of disconnected and hazy. I would also like you to let go of whatever past you think Spike might have... I've taken a different approach to his history, one that I don't think I've seen thus far on this site. So please, don't be biased when it comes up. Here is the third: This story WILL earn its rating. While I won't include a lemon (mostly because I'd die of embarassment writing it) there will be mature themes and content, including naughty language, insinuations, and heavy drug use. If you have problems with any of things, I don't recomend following this story to the end. **

**With that said, I'm very proud of this chapter and what will come next. I worked extremely hard on this story, and I hope you like it. I love you guys all so much! And please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop. Although if you're offering... :)**

**And now, I am extremely proud to present...**

**Chapter One:**

**Ante Up**

* * *

_**Sometimes, baby,  
**__**We make mistakes  
**__**Dark and hazy  
**__**Prices we pay**_

**-The Seatbelts**

* * *

Spike Spiegel was a lot of things. Stupid came to mind. Jaded, broken, reckless, lazy. Sometimes nostalgic, always cocky.

But not dead. Not in the most literal sense of the term, at least.

And there were reasons for that.

As Spike stood, handsome face in shadow, back pressed flat against the smooth metal of the Swordfish II, he was watching though half-lidded brown eyes. It was the dark of night, but that didn't matter. He could see them, all around him, waiting for him to make the first move.

Graceful hands tucked into the pockets of jeans, old but never worn before today. Shoulders slumped forward in long-mastered nonchalance. Black boots scuffed the ground, perfect blades of green grass bending beneath his toes. He was cool, collected.

…_Make them think you don't give a damn…_

His escorts made their appearance. Two shapes, mere silhouettes against inky blackness, making their careful way across the lawn. Just what he had been expecting. Some things, like the Red Dragon Syndicate's absolute faith in the old methods, never changed.

Spike heaved a sigh, his head tipping down as his one real eye worked. Took in the hedges, the men behind them, head to toe in black. The house before him, a massive stone mansion, a real piece of work, every window glowing gold with light. The sports cars and limousines and luxury sedans parked along the circular drive.

A party. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

Footsteps and the crunch of grass. The two shades were getting closer, slowly taking shape through the heavy spring air. They were walking strangely. That meant wires or concealed weapons. Maybe both.

…_make them think you're here to die…_

A smirk found its way slowly onto Spike's face. He was getting hot in his leather bomber jacket. The whitish fluff, some kind of animal product, was sticking to his neck. The temperature difference between Callisto and Mars was jarring. His hands were beginning to sweat in fingerless leather gloves. But he wasn't going to take off the gloves or the jacket; they had been good to him, and he would be good right back. Besides. If he was going to die tonight, and he didn't doubt he would, he was going out looking good.

Damn good.

The moon meandered slowly out from behind the only cloud in the star-spattered sky. The lawn was bathed instantly in cold grey light, impassive and somehow endlessly flattering. His escorts were suddenly very identifiable and very near. A man and a woman.

The smirk turned slowly to a smile.

He should have known.

"Amber." His voice was low, rough. Russet eyes met familiar blue ones, sparkling in the moonlight with the same mirth and irony that was filling Spike's own.

"Hey there, Spike." The woman greeted. She was smiling, tossing brown curls over her shoulder, brushing out a black three-piece suit. Her name was Amber Beaumont, and considering the circumstances, she looked great. Hair and makeup their usual perfection, heels their usual height.

"Couldn't stay away for long, huh?" Spike was teasing, eyes flickering to the man with her as she laughed. He was of average height, built like a truck. Obviously uncomfortable in his tux, squirming under Spike's easy gaze. Just a common thug. Probably here to make sure things went smoothly. Two guns, one in each pocket, meant to be seen or they wouldn't be there.

Even without him, they were smarter than that.

…_maybe you **are** here to die…_

"You know, Spike," Amber was saying, "I could say the same for you."

"Yeah. You could." Spike pushed off his ship, his smile fading fast as he caught movement in bushes. Someone had pulled out all the stops for his arrival. He couldn't say he blamed them.

"We should go. You know how he gets. Not the most patient man in the solar system." Amber tilted her head to the side, letting her long bangs swing across her face. Her eyes were big and sparkling. She was on the verge of crying. And in all honesty, he couldn't blame her.

What he had done, all those months ago, was undoubtedly fresh in her mind. It was still fresh in his, after all.

Spike just shrugged and began walking, trusting that Amber and her flunky would lead the way. They did, leaving Spike free to observe. Everything about this operation, which seemed to hinge on getting him in the house, was completely overdone and hopelessly old-school. It felt like something he had seen in the mob movies of yore: the tuxedos, the darkness, the faint glimmering of expensive cars in the moonlight. Too film-noir to be real.

"So where have you been?" Amber's voice made Spike mentally start; the only visible sign was the flicker of his eyes to the back her head.

"Everywhere. Nowhere." He didn't want to talk about it. In all honesty, he didn't wanna talk at all. He was too tired… had been for a year and a half, now.

She seemed to catch on, her reply just some unidentifiable noise halfway between a grunt and a sob, all but lost in the heavy air. The scent of May flowers was thick and sticky with no breeze to sweep it away. Spike could feel himself suffocating on his own stagnant breath and the silence he was fighting so hard to preserve.

Maybe he was a little bit of a masochist, after all.

The flair of a lighter startled Spike, too. Amber had lit a cigarette, was taking long drags. She had never been much a smoker before. But he had known from the second she emerged from the shadows that something had changed. Some of that clinging innocence had disappeared.

It happened to everyone, eventually. Spike was just surprised she had held out so long.

The four of them continued across the lawn, grey-green and flawless in the starlight, leaving half-hearted footprints as they trailed towards the house. It loomed before them, a mass of light and music and false mirth. If hell really did exist, and if hell was on Mars, there wasn't a doubt in Spike's mind that this was it.

And that made the man inside the Devil. Not a stretch of the imagination, by any means.

Amber's cigarette smoke wasn't going anywhere. If Spike smelled the richness of tobacco, it was only because it stood motionless long enough for him to step through it on his way to that beacon of light. That god-damn house. Closer than ever. Amber's heels clicking neatly as she stepped onto the brick of the drive. She turned back to them, Spike and the thug, the cigarette hanging from her fingers.

Amber Beaumont was somehow tragic standing there, backlit and shrouded in a fog of cigarette smoke. Stretched too thin in certain moments, just a shadow of what she had been. She had lost something more than the bubbles. He could see that now.

"**_You killed him, Spike…" _**

"You coming, Spike?" Her voice was light as ever. The smoke just swirled up, wrapping in slow spirals around her body. She reminded him of someone. Two people, actually. But if he was too tired to have a conversation, he was sure as hell too tired to think about them.

But they lingered still in his mind, like the cigarette smoke in the still air.

Spike sighed, pushing them away as the glitter of metal caught his eye. Snipers on the roof, deep in shadow. Useless, if he was running. Which, in case of an emergency, he would be. They were there for show. Escape routes began to flood Spike's mind, roundabout methods that mostly worked.

Mostly.

It took a moment to realize they weren't headed for the front door. Instead, their sad little procession was cutting across the drive and moving to the side of the house. Up a few steps and they were on the porch. Spike watched as Amber and the thug moved along, one moment in the light spilling from the windows and another in absolute darkness, trying to deal with his own rapidly adjusting eye.

Blind one moment, fine the next. Lather, rinse, repeat. Somehow, it felt intentional.

Spike couldn't help but wonder what he had gotten himself into. He shouldn't have come. He and the Dragons hadn't parted on the best of circumstances, and if there was one thing their latest leader could do, it was hold a grudge. For all he knew, the plan was to execute Spike quietly and slip him out the back door. He wouldn't have been surprised. But that's where the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans came in. Firearms: Never leave home without 'em.

Not that it mattered. Life and death were the only options, and Spike couldn't say he cared much either way.

A few more awkward moments of silence and the trio was pausing outside a side door, probably intended to be a servant's entrance. Amber let the cigarette slip from her fingers to the ground, crushing it into the smooth stone of the porch as she fished in her pocket. A key ring appeared in her hand. She searched it quickly, inserting one key into the lock and turning. It swung open and they filed in, Spike following Amber, the thug trailing behind. A corridor. Dimly lit, long and narrow. They moved forward, the floorboards shrieking under their weight.

The only exit in sight was a door at the other end of the hall. It stood closed, probably locked. Amber was still gripping the key ring, picking through the keys, making them dance for her. She found the one she was looking for relatively quickly, moving faster down the corridor. Like someone was waiting.

Someone was.

The door opened easy, smooth on oiled hinges. Beyond was a darkened room, illuminated only by a television hung on the wall. Amber beckoned Spike in with a jerk of her head. He complied.

It was an office. And sitting behind the desk that dominated most of the center of the room was the one person Spike Spiegel would have been happy never to see again.

Alexander King.

"Spike-o!" The man greeted, smiling a blinding smile and standing. He was easily over six feet tall, his shadow darkening the desk top. Long black hair, grey in the unnatural light of the TV, hung loose just beyond his shoulders, glossy and perfect. Violet eyes, now just pits of shadow in an ethereal face, watched Spike expectantly.

Crazy son of a bitch.

"Nice to see you again, Alex." A lie. No one needed to know that.

"You don't have to lie, Spike." Alex responded, his voice so good-natured that Spike had to wonder at his sanity. Not that that was anything new. "Sit down." He gestured to one of the leather guest chairs placed before the desk, flopping back down in his own seat.

One hand slid out of Spike's pocket to scratch wild dark brown hair as he meandered forward, deeper into the room. Alex gestured at Amber. The door snapped shut. The two men were alone.

Spike knew the room; he had been here before. Blue in the daylight, it was now varying shades of indigo and grey. The walls of the room, lined with bookshelves that held only a very small percentage of Alex's collection, were cast in deep shadow. The chessboard and additional chairs that Spike knew were there had disappeared completely in the black.

As he sank into the chair, the cool metal of his gun pressed against his skin, comforting him slightly.

If the plan was to kill him, Alex would do it right about now.

"It's been a while."

"Yeah. It has."

Silence. Alex rapped his fingers on the desktop, studying Spike's face through the gloom.

"So I bet you're wondering why I dragged your ass here."

"The question had crossed my mind."

"Well, it's not to kill you, if that's what you've been thinking."

Relief flooded Spike's mind. No emotion registered on his face. "So then why the call? I don't work for you anymore."

If there was one truth in the solar system, that was it. No, Spike did not work for Alex anymore. Not Alex, not the Red Dragons, not the Tharsis government. They all went hand in hand. At this point, Spike's boss was named Herb, and he ran a mining business on Callisto.

Beggars can't be choosers.

"See, Spike-o," Alex said softly, humor thick in his voice. "I was hoping to remedy that situation."

Laughter. Spike was in mild shock. Remedy the situation. He didn't like the sound of it.

"What do you need me to do?" Spike's voice was low, sticky with distaste. But he was like an animal in a cage; he didn't have a choice. And he was sure that Alex would remind him of that very shortly.

"I knew you would help out, old buddy." Another glittering smile, bright in the sickening half-light.

"I didn't know we were still friends."

"Always." There was finality in Alex's tone that Spike didn't like. "So tell me… What have you been doing for the last year and a half?"

Spike quirked an eyebrow. Random question. "I've been on Callisto."

"Been watching the news at all?"

"Not when it could be avoided."

"I see." Alex was nodding, searching through some papers on his desk. As he searched, he spoke. "Hey Spike, do you remember my sisters?"

How the hell could he forget?

"Yeah, I think so."

Alex had found what he was looking for. A photograph, old and beginning to fade. He slid it across the wood to Spike, who picked it up and studied it, just able to make it out in the hazy light.

A family portrait. A boy and a girl, around fifteen and sixteen, stood next to each other, dressed neatly in black. Both had long black hair and beautiful lilac eyes, and both wore the same grim expressions. The girl had a crucifix strung around her neck, somehow familiar, and held a baby with shockingly blue eyes and wisps of white blonde hair. All of them were strikingly attractive. Talk about good genetics.

"You and your sisters?" Spike inquired, tossing the photo onto the desk. It fluttered through the air to rest next to Alex's left hand. A ring flashed in the light. Spike furrowed his brow, but didn't ask.

"Yep." He pointed to the grim dark-haired girl. "Amelia. And the baby is Judith. You know her."

Spike couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah. I do."

Did he ever.

Alex caught the expression but ignored it, choosing to focus on the eldest of the three children. Amelia. "You've never met her." He said, leaning back in his chair, "And since you didn't watch the news, I don't expect you to know the name. But she's the reason you're here." There was distaste in his voice.

"What's going on?" Spike asked causally, lighting a cigarette to shush the screams of addiction at the edges of his mind. Alex followed his example before replying.

"She's a nun."

"I didn't know that was a problem."

"It's not. At least, it wouldn't be, if she wasn't such a crazy bitch."

An eyebrow went up. "I'm not following. What does this have to do with me?"

"You really need to watch the news, Spike-o. You're completely disconnected. At least read the newspaper or something."

"Thanks for that tidbit of advice. I'll remember it."

"Anyway. My crazy-ass sister got it into her head that the only way to save the sinners of Mars was to kill them, and-"

"What?"

"Tell me about it. So anyway-"

"Back up for a second." Spike said, not believing what he was hearing. "Your sister is a serial killer?"

"Not just her." Alex heaved a sigh, his perfect features arranged in an expression of revulsion. "A whole group of clergy broke off from the Catholic church. She's crazy, but she sure has a way with words…" He trailed off.

The heavy silence was broken only by the news casters discussing the upcoming summer.

**"****_And a beautiful summer it will be, Tom. I just can't wait."  
_"****_Me either, Eileen. And word is the boys down at climate control are just as excited as we are!"  
_"****_How nice, Tom! You better start looking for those swimsuits, Tharsis City! I hear Dior is having another great sale!"  
_"_Now there's something the whole family can enjoy!"_**

Unbelievable. Spike just sat, smoking, his mind whirring with thoughts of absolute disbelief. This had to be some kind of a sick joke. Everyone knew Alex was a little off his rocker, but to go this far?

"Is this some kind of joke?"

Alex fixed him with those violet eyes. "I wish. They've formed a kind of bloodthirsty rebellion, Spike. The Tharsis government hired the Dragons to put it down-"

_Funny. I always thought it went the other way around…_

"-but they were waiting for us." A pause. Long, dramatic, completely Alexander King-ish. "I don't think we've ever lost so many men."

Brown met purple. No. This wasn't a joke.

"So you failed. And now you want me to do it."

"No, Spike. I _need_ you to do it. And you know I don't throw that word around lightly."

Alex's fingers were rapping on the desktop again. That ring on his left hand still shimmered. He slid the photo back across to Spike.

"If I say no?" Stupid question. Spike knew the answer to that. An image shot to his mind. Blonde hair, dripping with water. Blue eyes opening slowly, their beautiful depths completely void. He pushed it violently away.

"You remember what I have down in The Garden, don't you?" Softly, carefully. Viciously deliberate. "Think long and hard about why you're here in the first place, Spike. We've discussed this before."

The silence stretched on. Finally, Spike broke it. "What do I need to do?"

The smile that had faded from Alex's face was back in seconds. "I knew you would help. Good friend, good friend…" He exhaled sharply, his untouched cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. "What you need to do is kill Amelia."

"You want your own sister dead?" Somehow, Spike wasn't all that surprised.

"We were never close. And a job is a job, right?"

"Right."

Alex was playing the drums on the desk now, pounding out some random rhythm. He was getting impatient; the man had the attention span of a gnat. He was standing now, brushing out his sharp black tux, combing his fingers through his hair.

"Can we talk about this later? Tomorrow or the next day. You're staying in the pool house. All your stuff from Callisto is already put away. Amber will take you there in a little bit."

Spike stood as well, stretching as discreetly as possible, trying to ignore the uncomfortable indent his gun had left in his back. "Later? What the hell am I supposed to do until then?"

"I'm having a little party tonight, actually. I think you should make an appearance."

"I hope you're kidding." Spike replied, glowering.

"Ah, come on!" Alex said brightly, opening a door (not the one they had entered through) and proceeding out into a large, bright hallway. "You might see some people you know."

"I don't think so," Spike sighed, dropping his cigarette into the ashtray as he followed Alex out of the room. "I washed my hands of the Red Dragons a long time ago."

The comment earned him a laugh. The noise echoed unusually loud in the corridor. That was something about this house, especially the first floor; every noise echoed in the strangest ways. Something about the high ceilings, probably.

Still. It was unnerving.

The pair walked in partial silence. At least, Spike was silent. Alex was talking away about God knows what. In all honesty, the ex-cowboy didn't give a shit. He had worked with Alex long enough to know that about seventy-five percent of everything he said was useless, and the other twenty-five percent was only slightly amusing. And so, lost in his own thoughts, Spike trailed after Alex through the maze that was 665 Coltrane Avenue.

About the time they were cutting through one of the living rooms, they began to hear music. Jazz, a transition from upbeat to slow. Spike tucked his hands back into his pockets and did his best to block out Alex's voice, focusing instead on that single strand of melody drifting lazily through the climate controlled air. He didn't like what it did to him, bringing back memories of one particular night spent in this house, but it was infinitely better than listening to the purple-eyed man ahead of him describe one of his ties in perfect detail.

At last, what felt like a million years later, they arrived.

The ballroom.

Easily the biggest room in the house, the ballroom had changed drastically in eighteen months. Spike took this in stride; in the three years he had worked for Alex, the entire style of the room had changed six or seven times. That was Alex's little-known hobby; redecorating his ballroom. Some things had stayed the same. The French windows, the marble dance floor, the mural of cherubs and angels. All had stayed intact. But just about everything else was different.

The chandeliers that had once hung from the ceiling were gone, leaving no trace of their existence. The room was now lit by at least five hundred deep purple candles clustered around the room, matching the heavy velvet window hangings. A profusion of circular tables formed a ring around the dance floor, where a stage had been set up in the middle. It was there the musicians were set up, illuminated by two spotlights hidden somehow in the mural. The two streams of light bled together beautifully, somehow symbolic. Spike remembered the ring on Alex's left hand, and decided not to dwell on it.

There were hordes of people in attendance, all of whom were seated at the tables, chatting as they sipped champagne and nibbled appetizers. The overall effect was dark; it would have been depressing if it hadn't been so god-damn sensual.

Alex lingered in the doorway, and Spike stayed there with him. The murmur of conversation floated to them on perfumed air. The whole scene looked and smelled expensive. Just how Mr. King liked it.

"Hey, Spike." Alex asked quietly, beckoning Amber, now decked out in a white fur stole and black evening gown, and the thug from earlier over from their post near the open doors to the terrace. They crossed the room quickly. Alex followed them with his eyes as he spoke. "Do you believe in love?"

Spike was a little taken aback with the question. He was silent a moment, questions of his own streaking through his mind. When he answered, it was slow, careful.

"Yes."

Alex turned to him now, mirth deep in his eyes. "That's nice. I don't."

Amber and the thug reached them now, and the woman took Spike by the hand, leading him further into the room, away from Alex, who was making his way quickly to the stage.

"Amber," Spike asked, walking in step with her, trying to ignore an unusual feeling curling in the pit of his stomach, "What's going on here? What is this party for?"

Knowing Alex, he was expecting some cliché answer, like "It's your funeral, Spike." But that isn't what he got. Amber turned her head to him, pulling him to the back wall. They were moving fast. When they were directly across from the stage, she paused and turned to him.

"It would be easier if we left now." She murmured, her eyes flickering to the thug directly behind him. But the music had stopped. Cocking an eyebrow, Spike turned to face the stage. And there was Alex, smiling and waving, taking the microphone from the singer amidst applause from his guests.

"Thank you all so much…" He was saying, oozing with confidence and appeal. He was good. He was really good. Ten seconds, and they were wrapped around his finger.

"Spike," Amber insisted, her hold on his hands tightening. "It would be so much easier to go now."

"Amber," The thug interjected, his voice thick and deep. "Lucifer wanted him to see this."

Lucifer. So Alex was still using that old alias. It had been a long time since he had heard that name.

"Let's just watch." Spike gave Amber a little smile, meant to ease her mind. It just made her more uneasy.

"I'm so happy to have you all here tonight!" Came the voice from the stage. Two pairs of eyes turned to Alex again. Amber had dropped Spike's hand. "As a lot of you know, this moment has been a long time coming…"

Laughter from the guests. They knew something Spike didn't.

"… But now that it's here, I can't stress how happy I am. This has honestly been the best year of my life. And I'm so happy to tell you all this…" Alex was nodding to someone. A woman. She was standing from the table directly in front of Spike, her back to him. Long, layered black hair fell to her mid-back, shimmering as she made her way around the table and towards the stage.

Spike could feel his heart rate rise as the woman moved, the curves of her body painfully familiar under an amazing deep purple evening gown. The way she walked, the way she laughed. Arrogance and fire and something uniquely her own. It was suddenly cold. Spike's stomach restricted painfully. Flashes of the past were practically blinding him.

_No…It can't be…_

She started up the stage steps, laughing as she went, taking Alex's outstretched hand. Jewelry sparkled in the spotlight. A bracelet. A ring on her left hand.

_Impossible. Fucking impossible._

"Mr. Spiegel," The thug was talking to him now, alarmed by the look on his face, but Spike didn't care. He was focused on her, on that woman as Alex pulled her into a quick embrace. Her back was still to him. There was no way of knowing. "That's enough. We have to go." Spike felt a hand on his arm. That stupid man. He shook it off.

_Oh God…Impossible. Right?_

But then that woman was turning around, and that face, and those eyes, and those lips…And Alex was kissing her cheek gently, grinning like the god damn Cheshire cat and saying into that fucking microphone… saying…

"We're engaged!"

It was cold.

And he was numb.

But then the pain… Oh sweet Jesus, the pain…

Amber was pulling him out of the room now, the thug's gun pressed to the back of his head, but he couldn't do anything about it… All he saw…

…_no…_

Green eyes, beautiful and exotic and full to the brim with broken promises, met russet across the room. Her lips, red and glistening in the light, parted in something like shock.

All Spike Spiegel saw as he was lead away was Faye Valentine.

Faye Valentine, and the ring sparkling on her finger.

* * *

**A/N: Just a little note... Yes, Faye's engagement is part of the plot. And yes, it will be explained. And yes, I did have this planned for a long time. :) Sorry...**

**Lots and lots and lots of love!**

**Lucinda**


	2. Diamond Descant

**Lucifer's Garden**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. But I do own a Sesshomaru plushie... I blame Olivia >. **

**A/N: Alright! After VERY much delay, here is chapter two! Thanks for not giving up on this guys! I'd like to thank all of the reviewers, especially Olivia (my best bud EVAH! I luv the shirt!) and Swunshine (thanks for all of the e-mails!). Despite all of the delay, this is actually a pretty normal sized chapter... And for everyone who was like "WHA! FAYE and ALEX! I H8U!" (aka all of you :)) there is an explanation in this chapter. I hope you like!**

_Italics are exerts from Faye's video in Speak Like A Child._

**_Bold and Italics are her (direct) thoughts. I think there's only one..._**

**Chapter Two:**

**Diamond Descant**

* * *

_**Everything I never liked about you  
**__**Is kinda seeping into me  
Try to laugh about it now,  
**__**But isn't it funny how everything works out?  
I guess the joke's on me…**_

**-Nine Inch Nails

* * *

Faye Valentine lit a cigarette, her sharp green eyes never leaving his face. He was smiling. She took a long drag and tossed the pack away. She was too tired for this shit.**

Silence.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Smoke drifted through parted lips, heavy and curling slowly in beautiful spirals through dead air. Dark satin glimmered in the moonlight that spilled in from outside. The balcony doors stood open. There was no breeze.

Alex began to pace. Faye watched him from her spot on her the bed, following him with her eyes. Untying his tie, unbuttoning his shirt. He wasn't staying. She didn't want him to. Back and forth, footsteps on hardwood floors. She opened her mouth to speak, to break the smothering hush. The words were stillborn.

There wasn't anything to say.

Faye stood, unexpected even to her. Alex pinned violet eyes on her, watching her movements through the gloom. She ignored him, moving deliberately to the vanity across the bedroom. Her half-spent cigarette flared as she crushed it in the crystal ashtray. The diamond on her finger caught the light. A moment of hesitation, but then she was sliding it off, dropping it carelessly to the vanity top.

Behind her, Alex was pacing again.

Back and forth.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Silence.

_Today, you are who you are today. You are a newer version of me. Myself ten years from now... That's so far away for me that I can't even begin to imagine!_

"You should have told me." Faye's voice cut the heady air like a knife. The floorboards screamed as Alex stood still once more. Green met purple through the three-way mirror. A pearly-white smile.

"It's not any of your business."

Resentment. A little anger. But mostly that heavy sorrow, unexplainable and completely inexpressible.

She had seen this coming.

"Don't you think I deserve to know?" Faye spat, turning her attention from his reflected form to her own. Lips painted red, eyes painted black, hair glossy and thick. Just Alexander King's pretty porcelain doll, smiling and laughing and blushing on cue.

The ends would justify the means. Of that, she was sure.

"Didn't I tell you never to ask about my work?" Cool, almost sweet. But there was that poison, dripping just under his tone. He couldn't stand her.

Faye just shrugged and turned to face him, busying herself with her jewelry. Unclasp, set down. Unclasp, set down. Earrings, a necklace, a bracelet. A mini Christmas tree of diamonds and platinum, flashing fiercely on the slick marble vanity top.

Eventually, he would break. All she had to do was wait.

Back and forth.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Silence.

_Am I alone? Or is there a wonderful person next to me? Well, knowing me, I'm sure I am troubling a lot of different people..._

Alex was pulling on a new shirt. Black. Graceful hands worked their way up the buttons, began tying an incredible purple tie. He looked amazing. He always did.

They looked amazing together.

He moved towards her then, emerging sharply from shadow. Giving her a little smirk as he leaned forward, he studied himself in the mirror. Faye felt the slow, sweet drag of his fingertips across her arm, only half accidental. Her skin burned where he touched her. She flinched and Alex noticed, hesitating only a moment as he worked at smoothing his already immaculate hair.

"You know I don't care about your work." Faye couldn't help but smile a little. The words were bittersweet on her lips, hanging listless in the air.

"Then don't think about him. He isn't here for you, Faye."

Thick black strands of hair slid forward over her shoulders, hanging like curtains around her face. It wasn't like the news was shocking; she must have known it all along. But then there was that slow, sick emptiness in the pit of her stomach, and Faye wasn't so sure anymore.

_**He isn't here for you.**_

Movement. Alex was straightening, heaving a sigh. He rolled his shoulders quickly and something popped, but Faye was past paying attention to him. Her eyes were focused on the open balcony doors and the world beyond them. The Tharsis skyline was glittering.

Back and forth.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Silence.

_But that's all right. There's no problem. I will always be cheering you on._

"I hate you." Faye said softly. But she was smiling, brilliant and sparkling. And then Alex began to laugh and she couldn't help but join in. It was an ugly harmony, Alex's almost musical mirth and Faye's frantic, breathless giggles.

"Luckily," Alex was saying, shaking his head as he slid off his own engagement ring, letting it slip from his fingertips, "The feeling is mutual."

Platinum flashed, catching the light as it fell. The ring hit the ground with a clear metallic ring.

Green met violet once more. The laughter faded. Their smiles stayed firm. A moment passed. But then Alex was turning to go, striding across Faye's bedroom with purpose they both knew he didn't have. It was as his hand touched the doorknob he paused.

"Faye."

She cocked an eyebrow, eyes flickering to his beautiful face. "Yeah?"

"Watch your step. You know what's at stake here."

"I'll be fine." Deadpan, but convincing none the less. She almost believed herself.

Alex shot her a sideways glance, a smirk on his lips. "Of course you will." The door swung open and he slid out, snapping it shut behind him. Faye waited for his footsteps to fade away. As they disappeared, she moved forward a few paces then stopped, lingering aimlessly in the center of her bedroom.

Options flooded her mind.

She could scream. She could cry. Suicide was always available. She could run away. Murder Alex and his entire family, smash her furniture, have an affaire with the gardener, max out the credit cards (like that was possible), dye her hair pink.

Faye began to walk, retracing Alex's earliest steps.

Back and forth.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Silence.

_And now for a big cheer... from the bottom of my heart!_

Faye paused abruptly, the smile fading fast from her lips. A photograph on the bedside table had caught her eye. The details were fuzzy through the gloom, but that didn't matter; she had it memorized. A dozen or so smiling people, all sundresses and sandals, pushing and crowding into the frame. A beach stretched in the background, clear blue water turning white sand brown where they met. And there, in the center, was Faye. Beautiful and young, maybe seventeen. A yellow sundress fell to her knees, thick black hair just past her shoulders.

She had been there, on that beach. And on good days, she could almost remember. The salt, the heat of skin on skin. Names and voices, nothing concrete. The people in the photograph had been special. They had loved her. And she didn't know them.

Faye's eyes fell from the picture to the floor, her mind silently running over what scraps she had of her life. A few pretty shots of water. A house. Running up a hill.

But Alex knew. Alex had a file somewhere, probably in the basement he was always talking about. A beautiful file, full of the pictures and the papers that would tell her _exactly _who she was. Who she had known, who she had loved. Where they were now.

And for that, she would stay.

Faye Valentine's smile made its comeback then, weak as she made her way quietly into the bathroom. She would brush her teeth, take off her makeup, go to sleep. Just like she did every night. Because when it came right down to it, some things were just more important than Spike Spiegel.

Back and forth.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Silence.

_Don't lose, don't lose! Me, me, me!_

* * *

Alyssa Black knew her husband far too well to believe him when he told her he was fine. Just sitting next to him in the car, watching his knuckles turn white as he gripped the steering wheel too tight, told her otherwise. Something was gnawing at him, and she knew just what it was.

"Jet," She said quietly, dark brown eyes focused out the window. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Was his short reply. Alyssa quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing. He would tell her when he was ready. Whenever the hell that was.

Alyssa sighed inaudibly and leaned her head against the window. The glass was cool against her skin, the streetlamps tossing stripes of golden light on her face as they passed. This was a rough part of town. The underbelly of glossy Tharsis City. All prostitutes and addicts and graphitized walls. It was here the real effect of the Red Dragon Syndicate was apparent; away from the money and the glitz, the strangle hold the organization had on the Martian government reared its ugly head. The people here were blistered and raw, struggling to feed their addictions and their four kids. This place was almost endearing to a girl from the relative slums of Ganymede.

Jet wasn't nearly so fond of it. His steely blue eyes were narrowed, focused exclusively on the almost empty street in front of the car, refusing to even acknowledge the dark shadows the hookers were casting on the sidewalk. Alyssa wanted to comfort him somehow, tell him it was okay. But she knew that wouldn't help. The way Jet saw it, the only thing worse than committing a crime was seeing one and not doing anything about it. It was just the old cop in him rearing up.

"Faye looked beautiful tonight." Alyssa commented mildly, reaching forward and flicking on the radio. Jazz crackled through the speakers, the volume just high enough to be heard over the purring of the car's engine. She had been hoping to dig into Jet a little bit, get him to talk to her. Her plan didn't work so well.

"She looks ridiculous with long hair. I've always said that." His voice was casual but too cold to be genial. Brown eyes flickered to his face. His pronounced brow was furrowed, mouth set in a grim line.

That couldn't be healthy.

"I like it long. Especially since Alex has so much hair. It would be weird to have her marry someone with longer hair than her."

Jet was silent. The blinker clicked on. The car jerked left. Another empty lane.

Bingo. She had found the sore spot. Alex and Faye. Not entirely surprising.

"Don't you think so, Jet?" Alyssa prodded carefully, letting her eyes slip from his face to the streets once more. They were slowly moving into their own neighborhood. Run down apartment buildings and shady corner stores were being replaced by houses, each surrounded by a chain-link fence and sturdy gate. Once the barriers became the white picket variety, they would be home.

She had a little bit longer.

"Sure I do," Jet said shortly.

A pause seized the air, the cracking of the radio all that held the silence at bay. Alyssa nodded and let her eyes fall to the simple gold band that circled her ring finger. Six months now. Technically, they were newlyweds. But it had never felt that way. In their own strange way, she and Jet had been married since the moment they met. There was no awkwardness, no adjustment period. Just the comfort and safety of something old and worn in. All they needed was each other. And that was why Jet's silence was worrying her. If he couldn't talk to her, who else was there?

"Do you think he makes her happy?"

Alyssa's head jerked up, her brown eyes widening slightly. That question was… unexpected. To say the least. She glanced at Jet. His eyes were still hard and cold, focused on the street. But his face was softening.

He was worried.

"I… I don't know." Alyssa answered lamely, redirecting her gaze out the window. She

could hear him sigh, and it was hard for her not to do the same. She could feel a heavy sense of loss descending on them, as suffocating as the grave air outside. Jet's happiness was relative now; tied inexorably to the happiness of his pseudo daughters, his dog, his best friend. And as much as Alyssa hated to admit it, she was invested. So to say it didn't hurt her to admit that Alexander King did _not _make Faye Valentine happy would be a lie.

"Alex should have asked us," Jet said quietly, reaching forward and clicking the radio off. "You know, for her hand in marriage or whatever."

The engine hummed, filling the dead air as Alyssa considered. The lawns outside were getting greener, the bars on the windows steadily disappearing.

"You would have said no."

"Exactly. Then we wouldn't have to deal with this in the first place."

"It wouldn't have stopped them." She murmured, not really wanting to be heard. It would just upset him to know he didn't have any control, any say. But in the end, it was the truth. There was something strange going on between Alex and Faye, and Alyssa had a bad feeling it had to do with one Spike Spiegel. But she didn't want to think about it like that.

Jet did.

"Spike was there. When they announced it."

"I know. I saw him."

"He'll want to know what's going on. He might call."

"What will we tell him?"

Jet hesitated, considering. The car made an easy left turn, sending the pine-tree air freshener strung on the rearview mirror swinging.

"The truth." He said after a moment.

A smile touched the corners of Alyssa's mouth. "You mean that we don't know?"

Blue eyes met brown for a fraction of a second, and for the first time all night, Jet smiled.

"Exactly."

* * *

Spike couldn't sleep.

That didn't really surprise him, considering the less-than-perfect end to his already questionable day. It just left him with a slight problem: how to pass his time. He hadn't thought to bring a book, and the list of authors he respected, or could stand in general, was getting short anyway. The ceiling of the pool house was completely uninteresting, albeit fixed with security cameras, making staring at it for hours on end completely out of the question. And he absolutely refused to just sit in the cushy bed provided for him and think, because God knew where the hell that would lead him. Nowhere good, surely.

So Spike did the only thing he could really think of. Smoke. And to be completely honest, it wasn't all that bad. The night was warm, and Alex's pool was pretty fucking beautiful. A rectangle of pristine water colored turquoise by lights on the sides, it was like a beacon of shimmering blue in the night, bleeding light across the smooth stone of the pool deck. The scent of May flowers was heavy as ever, and the view of the main house was beautiful across a stretch of green lawn. Even with the strange humidity, no doubt thanks to Alex's dramatic tendencies, being outside was still better than the opulent suffocation of the pool house behind him.

A match struck, and for a moment Spike could see beyond the blue haze. But then his cigarette was lit and the stub of the match was in the pool. Back to blue. Standing there, barefoot and shirtless, he relished the smoke as it scraped down his throat. There was some part of him that loved smoking because it was bad for him, relished the knowledge that every drag was bringing him that much closer to the end. But then there was the other part, the part that hated the tobacco clawing at his lungs, making his insides all sticky and black.

He had quit once. The reasons had been unclear at the time and definitely hadn't gotten any sharper with time, but Spike had the sneaking suspicion it was for a girl. Or at least _because_ of a girl. Because sometimes on Callisto, when it was dark and cold and he was really really drunk or really really sober, he missed her.

The woman. Not the cigarettes.

Of course, none of it mattered anymore. Not the girl, not the diamonds, not the bullets wasted on a lost cause. She was engaged. Getting married. And of all the men in the universe, she had to pick Alex King. Just salt in the already stinging wound.

Spike smirked and began to walk, russet eyes on his feet. Footsteps were nonexistent on the cool stone, the tip of his cigarette flaring as he took long pulls. The pain of the evening was sort of fading now, replaced by his trademark numb. Maybe it hadn't hurt all that bad in the first place. Maybe he was just being dramatic, sucked into Alex's vision of the night.

Maybe, when it came right down to it, he didn't give a shit about Faye Valentine.

If anything, he should have been happy for them. One of his better friends and his ex partner… two people he wanted to be happy, right? And it wasn't like he had claimed Faye in any way. Their only romantic encounter had been the result of champagne and the loneliness that came with three years of one night stands. Spike had wanted something that felt real, and there Faye was. They knew each other, at least. Had a little bit of a friendship. And both of them were great at playing make-believe.

Throw in a crazy syndicate leader and you have one hell of a romance story.

He should have been happy. Faye was, after all, fair game. Alex had every right. But then Spike blinked, and all he could see past the darkness was the smile on Alex's face, the red of Faye's lips. The ring on her finger, blinding him.

Happy, happy, happy. Be happy, happy, happy.

Or, at the very least, be cool.

Cool, cool, cool. Spike Spiegel was cool, cool, cool. And the stone on his feel was smooth, smooth, smooth, and the night air was warm, warm, warm, and Faye looked so fucking beautiful back there he thought he would have to kill himself-

But that wasn't important. Because no matter what had happened before, and who had broken which heart, it didn't make a difference. Spike was still smoking, and Faye was still engaged, and he was still calling Jet in the morning to figure out what the hell was going on.

Spike paused, dropping the cigarette butt into the pool as he heaved a sigh. He had hoped not to think tonight. Nothing ever seemed to go his way. But that was okay. Because he had his reasons for being here. And so even though he had the distinct impression a very angry Faye Valentine would be paying him a visit shortly, Spike had no choice. He would smile, laugh it off, and try not to blow Alex's brains out in the process.

It would be a long, very sleepless night.

* * *

**A/N: The part at the end with Spike being happy happy happy... I know it was sort of out of character, but it's inspired by a guy I used to know who I base Spike heavily on. In his better moods, he would say shit like that. It's my way of relating to the characters and making them real in my mind (which they are...) and I do think that Spike has a lighter side to keep from killing himself... :) Well, I hope you liked it! And I'm sorry for the delay! School is crazy as hell this year. **

**Anyway, just because I love you guys SO MUCH I'm gonna give you a preview at the end. **

**So, all my love, and please review! And since it's nearly bedtime for me here (California) Goodnight, everyone!**

**You're all the best!**

Lucinda

**_Next Time On Lucifer's Garden: _**Old habits die hard. Spike and Faye a less than corgial chat about their situation, Jet and Alyssa begin a struggle of their own, and Alex decides to fill in the blanks regarding Amelia. And how exactly is his younger sister involved with Spike? Stay tuned!


	3. Heatstroke Hustle

**Lucifer's Garden**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Or Inuyasha. Not that Inuyasha is in this. Just letting you know. **

**A/N: So much to say! Where do I start! I always get so irritated with my A/Ns, because I have so much to say! But then I feel like an idiot if they're too long... Well, screw that! Long authors notes are cool! I have two things to say today.**

**1. Thank you guys so much for all of the reviews! 55! I'm so excited! Danielle, this chapter is dedicated to you, because of your genius use of Mr. Fong. Many thanks. I do have something to say, though. When you tell me that Spike is out of character, I'm asking if you'd please tell me where exactlyin the chapter. It doesn't really help me improve, especially in chapters set up like this one is, to know that somwhere within the fifteen pages Spike said something wrong. Infact, it's just irritating. Also consider the changes that the characters have gone through before you start screaming at me, telling me that Spike is totally OOC. He's not the same around Faye anymore guys. Come on. Think this through with me, here. But I love everyone who reviewed, snarky (yes, that is a word) or not! I appreciate the time you took, and if you have any questions, let me know. :) Luv!**

**2. And now for some notes on my Tharsis and how it affects the characters. The way I see it, Tharsis is like the worst of LA and NY combined. I've lived both of these places, so I consider myself pretty literate on them, and it was just a natural progression for me to combine them to make the glossy, trashy, totally materialistic Tharsis City. I'm portraying Tharsis' connection with the Dragons the way New York City was connected to the mob. Alex and Spike have kind of a John Gotti status. The Red Dragons pretty much drive the Martian economy, and the people of the planet are sort of fascinated by the men that run the show. Jude, who you meet in this chapter, has kind of a Paris Hilton-esque celebrity status, and Faye is like the common man's Cinderella, so they love her, too. While the issue of their celebrity doesn't come up all that much, it's important in understanding Jude and Alex, and is an insight to the way the city moves around them. **

**Sooo... you guys are all great! Enjoy!**

**Chapter Three:**

**Heatstroke Hustle**

* * *

_**The tick tock of the clock is painful  
**__**All sane and logical  
**__**I want to tear it off the wall  
**__**I hear words and clips and phrases  
**__**I think sick like ginger ale  
**__**My stomach turns and I exhale**_

**-Eve 6**

**

* * *

**

It was another one of those hot, bright days that Mars wasn't supposed to have. But with Alex around the weather was almost never normal, and after eighteen months on Callisto, Spike was just fine with the heat. If anything, the searing warmth mixed with the heady scent of his own sweat and the aching of his muscles aided in working out whatever frustration he was feeling.

The punching bag swung as Spike's fist rammed into the sturdy black leather. The shriek of metal on metal teased a momentary wince onto his face, but then he was over it, landing a languid kick. His black training pants were beginning to stick to him, his shirt long discarded. A quick glance at the clock told him he had been training for too long considering the heat. Two hours now. He was already feeling a little dizzy, something that came along with heatstroke. But he couldn't just sit around and do nothing.

It would kill him.

He couldn't help but grunt as his other fist crashed into the punching bag. The one room of the pool house was getting muggy, the windows starting to fog up. The two sets of doors were open already; there wasn't anything more he could do. Because he wasn't going to stop. He was wired, jumpy. Another punch. The chain screamed. Spike had to work to ignore the discomfort of dark hair sticking to his forehead and neck.

Jet had told him to back off. Not get into it with either Alex or Faye. And he was probably right. The whole situation reeked of a setup. It would be stupid to overreact, or react at all, for that matter. Because whatever was happening was bad. And he wasn't here for Faye. He didn't care about Faye. She could fuck up her life if she wanted. It wasn't his concern.

Right?

Right.

A roundhouse kick. Spike had to wince against the searing sunlight pouring in from outside. It was so fucking bright it was amazing he wasn't blind. The entire room was on fucking fire. Or at least that's how it felt. The tough leather of the punching bag was getting warm. Not uncomfortably so, but it was a little unnerving, serving as a reminder of things better left forgotten.

Hazy russet eyes caught the shifting of shadows on the wall opposite, and he pretended he hadn't noticed. There were two people who would visit him, three at the most. And he was pretty damn sure he knew who was casting this particular shadow. Something like anticipation clenched his stomach. His fist slammed once more into the punching bag, harder than he had meant. It swung forward, making a neat half-arch in the air.

"Spike."

The punching bag swung back and Spike stopped it short with an outstretched palm. The impact jarred his wrist and it hurt, but he was past caring about that. He was focused on her voice, throaty and rough and carnal in the most delicate of ways. A smirk touched his lips, his breath coming in ragged drags.

"Say it again."

The request hung in the hot air for a moment. Spike could feel her eyes on him and every muscle in his body was taut under her gaze. A drop of sweat slid down his spine, soaking into the waistband of his training pants.

She humored him.

"Spike Spiegel."

He couldn't help but smile, loving the sound of his name on her lips. It had been too long.

"Faye." Short, harder to say than maybe it should have been. His voice was gravely with disuse, painfully languid. From behind him, she was laughing quietly. Spike turned his head to see her, because he couldn't stand to hear her voice and not have something real to connect it with. In some small way, he was afraid she was just another one of his dreams. Something his mind had mixed up to keep him from going crazy. On Callisto it was always Julia; maybe Mars conjured Faye up for him. But no… Faye was just as real as Spike was. Maybe even more so.

She was backlit and beautiful, leaning with practiced boredom against the doorframe. Her sundress was yellow and tight across the chest, pretend modesty as she flaunted everything she had to offer. Dark hair was clawed back into a sleek ponytail, lips arranged in a smirk to match Spike's own. She was skinnier than she had been before and for a brief moment, he wondered if Alex was starving her. But then she was pushing off the doorframe, wandering aimlessly into the large room, and his mind couldn't focus on anything past the heat and the light and the absolute arrogance in her movements. And when she spoke, it was that arrogance that dominated her tone.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence," Faye practically spat at him, her eyes haughty under a carefully arched brow. Spike just grinned and turned to face her fully, red-brown eyes following her movements in a lazy snake towards him. The sunlight was bright on her skin, making her glow just enough to make looking at her painful.

"Only because I love you, Romany," He replied, half speaking without thinking and half genuinely interested in her reaction. Whatever hurt ran between them was no doubt deeper on her side; he wanted to see just _how _deep.

"Don't say shit like that, Gorgio," She replied easily, pausing halfway to Spike, her hand still resting on her hip. She inspected her nails, shooting him a sweetly venomous smile. "Didn't mommy teach you not to lie?"

Spike quirked an eyebrow, watching her face closely. But she had gotten better about her poker face. She was all arrogance and poise, looking at him like a peace of dirt. He knew her too well to believe it. "Mommy didn't teach me much of anything, Faye."

"Obviously."

The conversation, on shaky ground from the start, faltered. Faye, no more open about her discomfort around Spike, crossed her arms under her chest huffily, watching him watch her. They had never had much patience with small talk, and now that the obligatory snappy greetings were out of the way, all that remained were the questions begging to be asked.

Spike just waited. Eventually, she would crack.

A moment passed in almost awkward silence. But then Faye heaved a sigh and Spike's muscles tensed further. A little bit of nervous energy, but mostly just anticipation.

Green eyes met russet.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Her voice was cold and seething.

Spike hesitated, watching her. "I could ask you the same question."

"Why shouldn't I be here?"

"Why shouldn't _I_?"

"Is this about me marrying Alex?" Faye said, snide. Spike grinned and ignored the automatic tensing of his stomach muscles.

"If that's what you want it to be about." He was proud of how fucking cool he sounded.

"Well, I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"So will I. I'm glad we've got that cleared up."

Faye's eyes dropped for a fraction of a second, but that was enough. The conversation jerked to another halt, leaving behind a steely hush. The heat was making Spike want to swoon.

"Stop playing games, Spike." Her voice was painfully soft, strained as she faltered in her resolve.

"Stop making me, Faye."

"I thought you did whatever the fuck you wanted?"

Hesitation. When Spike spoke again, it was gentle and almost earnest. "Nothing is ever the same around you."

If they had a 'moment' then, silent in the secondhand sunlight, it was over pretty damn fast. Faye had given about five seconds for his comment to sink it, and once it was under her skin, she was scoffing, moving closer still to Spike. She narrowed his eyes at him.

"It's not that easy."

Spike grinned at her and her left eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. "I never said I wanted it to be."

"This conversation is going in circles."

"Feel free to take it in a new direction."

"Get the hell out."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Do you love him?"

Faye's intake of breath was sharp, her lips parting in something that vaguely resembled shock and outrage. She was wearing rep lipstick, and the color contrasted her skin beautifully. It was her lips that Spike watched, trying hard not to think about what he had just said. He hadn't meant to bring it up as a topic of discussion; her engagement wasn't something he liked to think about, much less have a (semi)civil conversation about. Apparently, Faye wasn't in the mood for it, either.

"Fuck you, Spike." She spat with such vehemence he thought for a moment she would kill him right there. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into the sweet flesh of her palms. Spike welcomed the gesture of absolute irritation because it resembled the woman she used to be; in some strange way, he had been expecting her to have changed completely.

In some ways, he was still sure she had.

"I'll take that as a yes." He replied easily, wiping the palms of his hands on his training pants. Spike's eyes followed the movements of his hands, desperate for anything to look at. Anything but her eyes. She was fuming by now, her muscles visibly clenching and her eyes narrowed in outrage. It wasn't until she had turned neatly on her heel that Spike realized she would walk away from him.

By the time she reached the door, Spike was two steps ahead of her.

His hand wrapped tight around her wrist and he was pulling her back, his mind not registering his actions. Faye's back hit the wall hard and Spike was right there, his hands propping him up, his arms pinning Faye under his body. Her jaw was clenched and eyes defiant, but she was shockingly still under him.

A moment passed. Her breath was hot on Spike's bare chest and it was making him a little nauseous. It was too warm to be healthy, and the two or so inches of charged air that separated them was driving him crazy. Green met brown and Spike had to smirk, because the look in her eyes was fucking classic.

"You can marry him if you want," Spike affirmed darkly. "I'm not going to stop you." The second the words left his lips he knew it was a lie, and so did she. Faye just cocked an eyebrow, letting the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly.

"That's good. Because you can't." That was a lie too, but Spike opted to let it go. If the absolute electricity of the air between them was any indication, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to her. In the back of his mind, he knew it was more than reciprocal. But he didn't want to face that just now.

"I'm sure," He practically growled, narrowing his eyes almost seductively. But Faye had seen it all before and knew how to play the game. Her arms were snaking around his neck and before he could react, she was pushing against him, away from the wall. Their noses were almost touching and the heat from her body combined with the tension in his chest and stomach were making him sick.

Twenty seven and more beautiful than ever.

It hardly seemed fair.

"You know," She purred, arching up against his body, "It was Alex that sent me down here to find you."

Whatever kind of spell she had been weaving on him broke in that second. At the mention of Alex's name, Spike found himself instinctively pushing Faye away, just enough to miss the tickle of cotton against his chest. But his hands were still on her hips and he couldn't quite bring himself to pull completely away.

"And why is that?" He murmured, his voice suddenly throaty.

"He's waiting for you. In his office." She gave him a less than subtle once-over. "But you should probably take a shower before you head up there." Faye's face broke out into a mostly genuine smile, and it was good to see. Spike released her then, and she stumbled back a little. She recovered quickly and was turning to go when he spoke.

"So I guess it really _is _just that easy."

Faye paused, resting a hand on her hip and glancing over her shoulder at him. "You wish, Cowboy." She drawled easily, lifting her left hand in a lazy farewell. The diamond flashed.

Spike watched as Faye Valentine exited, his eyes following her retreating form until she was lost to the long shadow of the house. And as he watched her slinking away, he couldn't help but wonder vaguely if maybe he had heatstroke, after all.

* * *

As Jet Black sat in his wife's bar, casually flipping through a magazine as he watched her clean glasses, he couldn't get Spike Spiegel out of his head. Their conversation that morning had been interesting to say the least, and it was a little unnerving to see his old buddy so worked up. Not that he had said anything, and you wouldn't have known it by looking at him, but Jet liked to think he knew his best friend well enough to tell. 

Then again, Spike had never been easy to understand.

A glass clinked as Alyssa set it down, pausing a moment. Her back was to him, and in the bright sunlight her hair looked almost indigo. Somewhere in the background, Ed was muttering to herself about fish, poking sporadically at her Tomato. Ein was asleep by the door in a streak of sun, twitching occasionally in his sleep. It was a good kind of peace, calm without tedium. This life suited all of them just fine. But never Spike. And that, Jet decided, was his problem. He didn't appreciate domesticity.

"Hey Jet," Alyssa said, turning to him with a smile on her face. "Do you want anything?" She held up a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass in the other, clinking them together briefly.

"It's a little early, don't you think?" He replied, blue eyes falling to his magazine as he flipped the page. He had reached the title article, aptly named '_30 Richest: The Men of Tharsis_'

"We're opening in fifteen. If you want something, get it now." Jet glanced up at her and she was smirking in that beautiful way of hers, still holding the bottle.

"Sure, then."

Alyssa nodded neatly and turned back around, unscrewing the lid. Jet was patient, returning to his magazine. He turned each page of the article quickly. It was just a bunch of names and statistics, a few pages dedicated to full-page photos. There were a lot more than thirty rich men in Tharsis and he didn't know any of them, but Jet did come across some familiar names. Valois, Beeman, Thorington. Old Earth families whose sons were coming of age and snatching all of the publicity they could get. The ex-cop was actually half expecting to see Spike on the list, considering the pile of cash he had acquired during his short but very profitable second run with the Dragons. Of course, Spike's money was practically blood money, and therefore not 30-Richest eligible.

Jet couldn't say he didn't feel a stab of fatherly disgruntlement at that. After all, Spike was more handsome than the inbred Valois boys, certainly. And while the Beemans were pretty attractive, he had heard from a patron that their fortune was fading fast while Spike's just sat accumulating dust and interest. Jet was about to comment to Alyssa about it when he saw who _had _made the list. Made number one, in fact.

Alexander Christian King. Of the Monticello-Kings.

That son of a bitch had a fucking _dynasty_ backing him.

"Alyssa," Jet grunted, his face twisting with distaste as he looked over Alex's glossy, full page picture. He was mid-laugh, hands tucked into his pockets, hair smooth and brushing his shoulders. His eyes were bright against a black suit shirt and purple background.

"Yeah?" She asked as she set Jet's drink down on the bar, wiping her hands on her blue apron.

"Look at this." Jet turned the magazine to face Alyssa, a little perturbed as a look of pleasant surprise crossed her face.

"Faye is in the article!" She said brightly, meeting Jet's eye and giving him a sunny, if slightly false, smile. "Check the vital stats."

As his wife turned back to wiping the counter behind the bar, Jet did as he was told. Alex's 'vital stat' questions were the same as all of the other young tycoons, but the ex-cop's interest was peaking here. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was eager to see Faye's name in print. So squinting the slightest bit, he leaned forward and read the bold text in the upper left hand corner of Alex's photo.

**Vital Stats:  
****Name: **Alexander Christian Monticello King  
**Age: **34  
**Net Worth: **Estimated at more than 47 billion woolongs  
**Occupation: **Second generation trust fund baby  
**Status: **Engaged to former blackjack dealer Faye Valentine. The couple met last year through a mutual friend.  
**Family: **The son of Christian Monticello King and former model Beatrice Pearson, he has two sisters. The younger, Judith, is well known on the Tharsis club scene. The older, Amelia, publicly disowned the family in '72.  
**Skeletons in the Closet: **Alex is an infamous playboy and rumored be involved with the Red Dragon Syndicate, although his criminal record is, to date, clean.

With an almost irritated snort of air, Jet picked up the magazine and tossed it away. Alyssa, who had set to work waxing the already immaculate bar, glanced up from her work.

"Mutual friend my ass," Jet muttered, and his comment was received with warm laughter.

"It's the truth," Alyssa responded.

"Sure, but it's a little more complicated." He reached for his drink and took a sip, trying not to wince as it clawed at his throat going down.

"No one knows that, Jet. Only us and them, really. It doesn't matter how they met, anyway." A pause. Then, very carefully, "She's going to become a Monticello-King no matter what we do." Jet glanced up at his wife, who was all-too-focused on her work. "We should be supportive. We really should."

"I guess." It came out slow, impossibly bitter on Jet's tongue. He didn't like the surrender of the words, and he knew they were settling. The Black Dog _never _settled. Well, until now. It wasn't like he could tell Faye who she could and couldn't spend the rest of her life with.

"Did Spike take it too hard?" Alyssa said casually from down the bar, her brown eyes focused on Ed in the corner, still typing and muttering.

"I don't know."

"Didn't you talk to him?"

"Of course I did."

"What did he say?"

"That he was fine."

A split second of hesitation. Alyssa paused in her work, her dark eyes moving from Ed to Jet. Her eyebrow went up in confusion. "So he's okay?"

Jet shrugged. "That or he's getting out the rope to hang himself. Impossible to tell." Alyssa's mouth formed a pretty pink 'O' as his reply sunk in. After a moment, she heaved a sigh and shrugged, working her way towards Jet, leaving a slick bar in her wake.

"You know Jet," she said quietly as she reached him, propping her elbows on the bar and resting her chin in her hands. "I've been thinking." Her big brown eyes were earnest and absolutely breathtaking, and Jet had to take a moment to admire them.

"About what?" He asked casually, taking another sip of his drink.

"Well…" Her gaze moved past him again, presumably to Ed in the corner. "I was thinking that we could adopt Ed. You know, legally." Brown met blue and she looked so hopeful that it made his heart skip a beat.

Jet opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out.

Alyssa's eyes widened marginally, and she launched into an explanation. "Just because she's living with us already. And if something happened, and we didn't have legal jurisdiction… Well, it would be stupid. We would ask her first, of course."

"Of course," Jet echoed.

"And we would be a real family. Not just for ourselves, but legally too. Just incase something really terrible happened."

Jet was silent for a long time, just watching her. Ed was still talking to herself and Ein was still asleep, and the sunlight was so beautiful on Alyssa's face. His mind flickered to Faye for a moment, then to Spike, then out the window. Tharsis was a rough city. Dangerous, especially for a kid on her own. It would make sense. Really, it would.

When Jet spoke again, his words came slowly, deliberately.

"Sure. Let's do it."

* * *

It was a good two hours before Spike finally found his way to Alex's second office. Having a fairly limited knowledge of the house and never having been great with directions, a good amount of time had been spent wandering from room to room, asking anyone he happened across. And then once he had found the office from the previous night and Alex hadn't been there, he had started all over again. 

"Oh, sorry Mr. Spiegel," They had said when he asked again, "It's eleven thirty. He'll be in the upstairs office. Just take the main stairs and keep going left. Eighth door on the right."

The eighth door on the right had been a guest bedroom. The ninth was a bathroom, the tenth completely empty. It was when he tried the eleventh door he found it.

The 'morning' office. Only for use before twelve noon, only because Alex was fucking crazy. In all honesty, it looked exactly like the 'evening' office, if painted white instead of blue. A huge window on the far wall faced east and the tennis courts, along with a good amount of the gardens. The floors were hardwood, the desk washed a slightly darker shade, all of the chairs brown leather. Alex was seated behind the desk, immaculate as always and immediately at attention as Spike entered, flashing a smile. Pretty typical, except for one thing.

Jude.

Jude was young, and Jude was beautiful, and for as long as anyone could remember, Jude had gotten everything she had ever wanted. She was Alex's younger sister, her real name was Judith, and she was every inch the baby of a sickening wealthy family. At the absolute limit of human beauty, she had a model's build, tall and impossibly slim without being bony. Pale skin and white blonde hair, the brightest blue eyes Spike had ever seen, and the almost uncanny tendency to glow silver in certain light. Now, perched neatly on Alex's desk, her legs crossed at the ankle, she was watching him and smiling the beautiful, assured smile of someone who, but for Spike, had never heard the word no.

With one exception, he had been saying no to her since her sixteenth birthday. And she worshipped him for it.

"Spike!" She exclaimed as their eyes met across the office, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. "I didn't know you were back yet!"

Spike just smiled, letting his hands slip into his pockets. The surprise was mutual; she was supposed to be finishing her freshman year at some expensive college or other. But considering that Alex's priorities did not include a full education for his eighteen year old sister, who wasn't thrilled with the work college presented as it was, he wouldn't have been surprised if Jude had never gone at all.

His job had just gotten about a million times harder.

"Hey, Spike!" Alex said from behind the desk, Spike's angle giving him a clear view of both siblings. "Took you long enough to get here." A bright smile to match his sister's.

"You're a hard man to find." Spike replied with a shrug, wandering further into the room almost reluctantly.

"Is it the whole two office thing?"

A lopsided grin. "It didn't help."

"I'm sure." Alex said, his almost smug smile firm on his lips. "Take a seat." He nodded to the guest chairs and Spike obliged, careful not to catch Jude's eye. She was watching him impassively from the desk and it reminded him of the last time they had met.

That had been a mistake. No use thinking about it now, though. Spike sank into one of the chairs, dark eyes moving back and forth between Alex and Jude. They both tilted their heads slightly to the left and it was almost creepy how alike they were.

Pure evil in the prettiest of packages.

"So Jude," Alex was saying, throwing his sister a small smile even though she couldn't see it. "Why don't you leave Spike and me to talk?"

Jude just quirked an eyebrow and smirked, shrugging as she made eye contact with Spike. "Because I want Spike to talk to _me_." Cool and absolutely serious.

"We can catch up later, Jude."

"But it's been so long." Was it just his imagination, or was she winking at him?

"Later, Jude." Alex cut in, giving her a little push off the desk. She laughed it off, slipping languidly onto her feet. She was easily five seven, taller in heels, and absolutely towered over the seated Spike. Her bright eyes lingered on him for a moment before they flickered to her brother.

"Faye and I are going shopping today. Can we take your car?"

Spike's stomach turned over as Faye's name slipped from Jude's lips. He watched Alex closely, trying not to focus on his own reaction.

"You both have cars of your own," He was saying, "Why can't you take those?"

A shrug from Jude as she adjusted her white lace dress, brushing out imaginary wrinkles. "Yours goes faster. And I'm sick of mine."

Alex nodded in sympathy and pulled a set of keys from his desk drawer. He tossed them to Jude and she caught them easily, hooking the ring in the crook of her finger. "Thanks bro." She said sweetly, flashing a sticky sweet smile at the two boys and turning to go. She was at the door when Alex stopped her.

"Hey, Judith?"

"Yeah?"

"If you want something newer, just let me know. Okay?"

A second passed in silence, which surprised Spike to say the least. Usually Jude was absolutely casual about these kinds of things, but he could see her muscles go taut. He couldn't see her face, but he could practically hear the gears in her mind turning.

"Sure, Alex. But I'd like to see what Bijoux gets for her birthday before I decide on anything." There was a pause, but then Jude was slipping out the door, letting it click quietly closed. The way she had said it, it was almost like she hadn't _wanted _a new car. Strange, considering that Jude had never been one to turn down new toys. As Spike turned his full attention back to Alex, he could see the surprise evident on his face. He was over it in a matter of seconds.

"Spike-o! Now that Jude's gone, we can get down to business."

Spike flashed a grin. "Joy." He replied almost scathingly, his half-lidded eyes hazy with distaste and the slightest bit of amusement. Alex just smiled and started routing around in his desk again. Spike had to wonder at his lack of organization.

"So Faye found you alright?"

"Yeah, I guess she did."

"She looks great, huh?"

"Sure she does."

Purple eyes met brown for a fraction of a second, but then it was back to the drawers. Spike heaved a sigh and tried not to bite his nails out of sheer awkward boredom.

"It's the hair," Alex said, beginning shuffle things around noisily. "She's got great hair."

Spike made a noncommittal noise in reply. Something between a grunt and a snort. That got him a strange look across the polished wood of the desk, probably well earned. Finally, Alex found what he was looking for. With a pleased chirp, he set it gently on the desktop, letting it bunch together as he slid it over towards Spike.

When he saw it, he had to quirk an eyebrow. Because until he saw it, glimmering quietly on Alex's desk, he had thought it was still hanging from his rearview mirror.

The crucifix.

It was Faye's and it was expensive. Spike wasn't entirely clear on where it had come from, but apparently it had been in her pocket when she was taken into surgery after a run in with the Red Dragons a year and a half ago. Jet had sort of half-given it to him, and Spike had taken damn good care of it, even cherished it in his more syrupy moments. It must have been solid platinum, set with several of the smallest amethysts he had ever seen. A few jade rosary beads were still strung on the sloppily-repaired silver chain, capturing the late morning light beautifully.

"This was around your rearview mirror." Alex stated, his voice deliciously monotone.

"I know."

"Where did you get it?"

Spike hesitated a moment. But there wasn't any use lying. "It was Faye's. I took it as a souvenir."

"Getting sentimental in your old age?"

"If that's what you want to believe." Came the smooth reply. He would let Alex make up his own mind; he didn't have the energy to argue, and it was starting to sound kind of true, anyway.

Alex was shaking his head and smiling. "What am I gonna do with you, Spike-o? Next thing I know, you'll be visiting your mother."

"Not likely."

"Whatever. It's not important. So about the crucifix."

"The crucifix."

"It's Amelia's."

Stunned silence.

"…what?"

"I said that it's Amelia's." Alex was looking a little bemused, messing with the chain. "She's had it since we were kids." Was that nostalgia in his tone? What part of Alex's childhood was worth remembering fondly Spike didn't know or care to guess. He had grown up pretty horribly; In all honesty, his parents never should have had children. Slapped around by his father and ignored completely by his mother and sister, it hadn't been until Jude was born he had had anything to hang on to. Even then, he was forced to watch his absent mother become practically obsessed with her youngest child. And Spike had a feeling that wasn't the half of it.

It was even shittier than Spike's upbringing. Which was actually saying kind of a lot.

"So how did Faye get it?" Spike asked lazily, if only because he thought that was what Alex wanted to hear.

A shrug. "Doesn't matter, really. But now that we have it, your job just got a lot easier."

"It did?"

"Absolutely."

Spike was quite for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around the new information. While necklaces had proven themselves relatively useful in his line of work, knowing Alex, this would be a large scale operation. And while strangulation was definitely interesting, it wasn't particularly efficient.

"This will get you in." Alex said proudly, pulling the crucifix back towards him and splaying it in the palm of his hand.

"In where?"

Purple met russet again, and the man behind the desk smiled. "Amelia gives cheap versions of these to her proven followers. If you're wearing it, you can go wherever she goes."

So maybe it would be useful, after all.

"Once we find out where that is, of course."

A very, very white grin and a little appreciative laughter. "Well, that goes without saying. This could take a little while to plan…" A pause. "I guess I'll see you in the office at eight tomorrow?"

The office. No way. Spike had to work not to cringe.

"The office… Sure." The gossip alone would have him bleeding through the nose by the end of the day.

"It'll be just like old times, Spike-o," Alex said, grinning and standing, "Just like the golden years."

Spike stood languidly, almost surprised that Alex hadn't asked what exactly Faye had said to him. But he didn't feel like talking about it anyway, so he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to go. "Just like old times, Alex." He said quietly.

Two steps from the door, Alex stopped him.

"Spike." Alex's voice was surprisingly strong, echoing the slightest bit in the room. It was startling enough to stop the ex-cowboy in his tracks. The floorboards sqeaked underfoot.

"Yeah?"

"Stay away from my girls, alright?"

Spike had to smirk as he half-turned back to face Alex. He was bracing himself on the desk, smiling that smug smile again.

"Your girls?" Amusement tainted Spike's voice.

"Jude and Faye. Just don't get mixed up with them."

The pause between the two men was drawn out and the slightest bit tense. Somewhere down the hall, a clock struck noon. Alex was surprisingly seriouse, his eyes narrowed just enough to be intimidating.

"Sure, Alex. Whatever you say." The reply hung in the air for a long moment, and the two men never unlocked their eyes. Eventually, Spike had to look away. His hand was on the doorknob and it wasn't hard to turn. But the door was heavy and Spike was suddenly antsy, acutely aware of Alex's eyes on him. In the back of his mind, he knew that Alex watched him because he knew Spike too well to believe he was tame enough to leave Faye to the King family, or strong enough to keep saying no to Jude. But Spike had been alone for a year, and he could handle a couple more weeks.

The door shut behind him, and Spike was alone in the hallway. He looked left. Doors lined the walls. He looked right. A window overlooking the front of the house. A black sports car was squealing as it sped out of the garage.

Faye had always been a shit driver.

The corners of Spike's mouth turned up as he turned left and started slowly down the hall. The air conditioning was nice, his footsteps steady.

Alex couldn't be everywhere at once.

All bets were off.

* * *

Bijoux: This means 'Jewel' in French, but it's used here as a name. She's one of Jude's friends who you'll meet later. Not really important enough for Spike to even spare a thought on, since he knows her friends already, and doesn't particularly care for them. 

A/N: At the beginning of this chapter, just as Faye is coming in, there's a line of dialogue like this:

"Spike."  
"Sayit again."  
"Spike Spiegel."

As I was writing this, it seemed a little familliar, and thinking back, I'm pretty sure I got the inspiration from another story on this site. I can't remember the name or the author, but I loved it too much to delete it, so whoever you are, thank you! All apologies! Thank you, everyone who read this, and i hope there wasn't anything TOO wrong with it!

Thankies and all my love!

Lucy


	4. The Salvation Waltz

**Lucifer's Garden**

**A/N: Holy cow! So when I posted This Is How We Cope (read it!) and said I may get this chapter done tonight, I didn't actually think I would... Well, I did! Yay! Happy New Year! I'm sorry this took so long... This is a transitional chapter. We're moving from what I consider to be exposition to the acutal meat of the story, so this is an awkward one. I really don't like it, but I'm pretty sure it's the best a chapter like this can be. A lot of you didn't like Jude, but she is a pretty important character. I'm sorry if y'all hate her... She gets better once we develop her a little. Bear with me, here. :D I'm sorry if any of you were confused by the 'Stay away from my girls' comment in the last chapter... That wasn't Alex in love with Faye, it was Alex rubbing Faye in Spike's face. Sorry! And thanks to everyone who reviewed any of my stories! You guys are all that keeps me going sometimes, and I'm really happy you liked ch. 3. That makes all of it worth it. Blood, sweat, and tears go into this, baby. Thanks for reading! I'm actually in Venice right now and it's about 2:00 AM on New Years Day, so I'm especially happy to have this done. Bedtime! Yay! Enjoy, guys. Luv ya! **

Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop and I'm too tired to come up with a clever disclaimer

**Chapter Four:**

**The Salvation Waltz **

**

* * *

**

**_Feeling unknown and you're all alone  
_****_Flesh and bone by the telephone  
_****_Pick up the receiver, I'll make you a believer  
_****_Take second best put me to the test  
_**_**Things on your chest you need to confess  
****I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver**_

**-Depeche Mode **

**

* * *

**

Footsteps. Loud and sharp, the unmistakable sound of practical shoes on too-cold stone. The people in the pews listened but did not look, focusing their eyes straight ahead, almost afraid to see her at all. Their beautiful cage of a cathedral was dark, madly air conditioned, and victim to the grimly flattering glow of candles spread throughout the nave. And still those footsteps came, strong and deliberately intimidating.

_Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name._

She was making her way to the altar. The gun was warm in her hand and almost sickeningly comfortable, cocked and ready. It flashed in the candlelight. She exhaled and her breath formed a white cloud before her face. It was cold. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the people shivering, fighting hard against the twitching of their muscles, clenching their teeth with the effort. A hundred silver crucifixes caught the light as their owners shook, a hundred breaths condensed in the air. A sleek black eyebrow twitched and she had to remind herself that they were unimportant. Useful, yes, but just a means to an end. Just sinners afraid of death and what came after it, looking for the only redemption the grime of Tharsis City could offer them: her.

_Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven._

Her footsteps stopped short as she reached the altar, echoes still slipping through the room. The woman who followed behind her stumbled to a halt, her heels scraping the smooth grey stone as she struggled to stay upright and a reasonable distance away.

"Kneel." The words spilled from her lips like chiffon, settling lightly over the men and woman in the pews. They remained still; only the woman who had trailed down the aisle sank to her knees. She turned to face her then and it was hard not to wretch at what she saw. The woman was, without a doubt, more disgusting than most. Her skin was pasty and her dyed black hair was lank, brown eyes clouded. She looked exhausted in a way that only came from years spent in the back of cars with strangers, from hits of Red Eye just to get through the day. Her name was a mystery, not important enough to inquire after. And there she kneeled, practically salivating, awaiting whatever forgiveness the woman with the gun could offer.

"You have sinned."

_Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. _

"Yes, Sister. I have." The woman practically moaned, turning those sickly brown eyes to her again.

"You seek redemption."

"Yes, Sister. I do."

The echoes faded into silence. The pause squeezed the air tight and she could feel her stomach turn at the sight of this woman so broken. When she spoke again, it was airy and ever-so-gentle.

"You shall be punished."

"Yes, Sister. I know."

The woman's brow creased then, a sad smile crossing her weary face. At one point, she might have been attractive. Beautiful, even. But in all honesty, no one cared anymore. Not one soul.

_And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._

"I will deliver you."

"Please, Sister… Please. Save me."

"Say it." Short and clipped, hollow in the absolute chill of the cathedral.

"I have sinned. Please, forgive me. Please, redeem me. Please, Sister Amelia. Please save me." Sick brown eyes begged, pleaded. Fat beads of sweat broke out on the woman's forehead as the frigid barrel of the gun pressed soft flesh.

"I pray the Lord takes you into his embrace."

She pulled the trigger.

_For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever._

And then the footsteps again, marching down the aisle. Someone would clean up the mess once she was gone, just like they always did. And the woman's life would end uncelebrated, as they always did. And the people of Mars would sit and watch with that sick kind of fascination, wishing they too had the courage to be delivered.

Just like they always did.

As she made her way purposefully towards the towering doors of the cathedral, her eyes cold and focused straight ahead, she couldn't help but smile the slightest bit.

The people sitting in the pews saw that smile. Saw it, and did nothing.

_Amen._

* * *

The morning of June 1st found Faye Valentine regretting the decision to ever get out of bed. She stood on the island of her shadow, black against the green of the tennis court, a racket gripped in her right hand. Her eyes were on the ground, her dark hair tied back, her very white tennis dress short for no particular reason. Across the net she could hear Jude, beautiful in the clean morning light, laughing and talking to one of her friends. Bijoux, maybe. Faye hadn't bothered to pay attention past the initial handshake. Beatrice King, the matriarch of the household, sat on the sidelines in a flirty black sundress with a matching hat, cold blue eyes hidden behind very dark shades, a rapidly condensing Diet Coke held casually in one neatly manicured hand. It was a morning just like every other morning since Faye had moved in; a light breakfast, a little tennis, maybe some shopping or lunch out with Jude's friends. The sheer repetition of it made Faye want to blow her own brains out, and she had seriously considered it once or twice, but there were too many perks of the deal to take the easy way out. And if she went a little insane, who would know the difference anyway? 

Not that she had been particularly sane to begin with, considering the ease with which she had let Spike Spiegel back into her life. A pass that would, without a doubt, come back to bite her in the ass.

"Faye, are you ready?"

Faye's head jerked up and her eyes met Jude's. The younger woman had shoved her friend, a nondescript brunette, off the court and was bouncing a bright yellow ball, her mouth turned up in a sweet smile.

"Yeah, sure." Faye muttered, not really loud enough to be heard. Jude must have gotten the message because a moment later the ball was whizzing through the air at her head. Faye swung her racket and managed to send it back across the net. The volley continued for a few moments but Jude eventually won the point, if only because Faye didn't really give a shit either way. Her mind was still trying to wrap itself around the previous day, struggling to get past the warmth of Spike's skin against hers so that she could even _begin _to process the long term effects of his not-so-unexpected return. On some level, Faye had always known he would show up again; the solar system was too small for someone like him to fade into eternal obscurity. Even if he did manage it, Jude and Beatrice would hunt him down and drag him back into society, if only because they felt it would be worth their time to see him wander out one morning without his shirt on.

Not that she cared what they felt. They could both drop dead and it wouldn't do anything but make her life that much easier.

And maybe it _was_ sort of worth it.

"Game point." Jude said from across the net, voice cool, one arm raised in premature victory. Her body was angled in a way that made her look like a strangely graceful puppet with half-slackened strings. Faye glanced sideways at Beatrice, a little miffed at the snide smile on her plastic lips. Jude would win because Jude _always _won at _everything_. Faye had learned long ago that to try was useless, just like trying to get her fiancée's mother to tolerate her was useless. So she just shrugged to herself and turned a neat circle on her toe, moving towards the center of the court to get the stupid game over with. She hated tennis anyway.

Ten minutes and a hell of a lot of scuff marks on her new shoes later, Faye had indeed lost the game. Big fucking surprise. As she wandered over to the sidelines, wiping her brow and trying to ignore maybe-Bijoux's nearly hysterical laughter as she went, Faye had to wonder at her bad mood. In all honesty, she didn't hate Jude that much. Yeah, it sucked to go out in public with the most beautiful girl on Mars. And sure, the way she talked about Spike was fucked up to say the least. But she wasn't that bad. Not really. She was sharp, sharper than Faye at least, and sweet when caught in the right mood. Now Beatrice on the other hand…

"Faye, sweetest. Could you come here for a moment? While Judith is speaking with Bijoux?" An involuntary wince crossed Faye's face as Beatrice King's voice slithered the three or so feet between them and oozed into her ears.

Beatrice, on the other hand, was a bitch.

"Sure." Faye drawled, turning the wince into a smarmy smile, her eyes narrowed almost dangerously as she wheeled around to face the figurative head of the household.  
"So Faye." Clipped and paired with the stickiest smile Faye had ever seen, the comment was made threatening in the most demure of ways. "I've been thinking."

"Have you, now?"

"Yes. About you and Alexander."

Shit.

"That's nice."

Beatrice let loose a light, long perfected laugh before her reply. "Of course. Faye, sweetest, you never met Alexander's father, did you?"

Faye blinked. A long, awkward moment passed in relative silence, broken only by Jude and Bijoux's jabbering behind the them. No, she hadn't met Alex's dad. From what she had heard he had been a lunatic asshole, but his wife's adoration of him was legend.

"No. Unfortunately not." Faye drawled as her mind began to function past her apprehension.

"He was a great man. The most handsome man in the solar system. Smart as a whip."

"So I've heard."

"Do you know what I used to do, Faye, angel? I used to bring him lunch at work. We'd have a kind of picnic in his office." A sickly nostalgic sigh. "It was just the sweetest thing."

Faye winced. "Yeah. That's cute."

"And you know, Faye, Alex reminds me of his father sometimes. Maybe he would like it, as well."

Two frozen appeared on two faces. Two sets of eyes narrowed. Faye reached up and tugged her hair out of it's ponytail, squirming as thick hair blanketed her neck and shoulders.

"I'm sure he would."

"I've had Nathan whip up a little picnic basket for you to take to Alexander this afternoon. You two can eat in his office, take a little time off. Of course, I would bath first if I were you, Faye."

"Thanks Beatrice." Faye spat with the sweetest of smiles. "That sounds great." She turned sharply on her toe and exhaled, glad to be done with the conversation and wondering if Beatrice had any actual idea of what her son did for a living.

"Faye!"

Damn it.

"Yeah?"

A pause. "You can call me Mrs. King."

Faye Valentine deflated.

Bitch.

* * *

There were papers on the desk. Lots of papers, all neatly stacked and perfect black on white. Figures, mostly. Disgusting numbers, hopelessly tragic and empty, lists under headings that ran along the lines of 'Men Lost' and 'Body Count'. There was a folder, too, and a pen and something that might have been a photograph once upon a time. In the top left corner there was a light but it was turned off and behind was a window with the whitish and sort of sheer curtains drawn. And across the desk was a woman, was Amber, seated neatly in a guest chair, her brown hair fighting a losing battle against the humidity. 

Spike Spiegel didn't give a shit about any of it. Alex could go to Hell for all he cared, could take Faye and Jude and Amber and the entire establishment with him. This was punishment and it was fucking _sick _and Spike didn't want to be here. Tharsis made his stomach turn and administrative work was mind numbing and his foot was falling asleep. The numbers, so black against the white of the pages, so mechanical about the stories they told, were giving him a headache and everything was wrong in the most fundamentally _wrong _way.

And maybe, just maybe, Alex had known what he was doing all along.

Then again if he had, Spike wouldn't have been at that desk, in the 'new and improved' syndicate building, watching Amber try to pull her rebelling hair into a braid or a ponytail or anything that would work with her. Because if Alex had known what he was doing, Spike never would have needed to get involved with the reformed Red Dragons in the first place. It just… wouldn't have been necessary. He probably wouldn't even be alive. But there he was, everlasting proof that Alex King was just a pretty little rich boy playing organized crime and Spike was no good at running a business, even one he had been involved with on some level or another for years and years.

Spike had to take a moment to fully appreciate how completely shit his life had become. But then Amber spoke.

"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Spike quirked an eyebrow and glanced up at her, taking a stack of papers and putting them in the folder just to look busy. "About what?"

She was blushing. "Alex and… well, you know."

He smiled slightly and that must have put her at ease a little, despite how his eyes involuntarily narrowed at her. "That's okay. I don't mind. I'm happy for them."

And in his better moments, he was. More shuffling of papers followed, hand in hand with a moment of doubtful silence. "I'm not quite sure I believe that." Amber said finally, sardonic and so sharp that it took Spike a second to realize it was she that had spoken.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spike countered easily, picking up the photograph and examining it. It was kind of blurry and he wondered idly if he needed glasses. He decided he wasn't quite _that _old yet and let the picture fall back to the desk, a lost cause.

"You've never done anything just for the hell of it, whatever you might say. Come on, Spike. All that effort? You've got to be at least a little angry."

Spike quirked an eyebrow and smiled the slightest bit. "I think you're overestimating the level of affection between Faye and I."

"Sure, Spike. Whatever you say." She was smiling a kind of shrewd smile he had never seen before. Spike grinned and held his hands up in mock defeat.

"You weren't around in the old days. I can't blame you for that."

Amber narrowed her eyes at him playfully. "People change, Spike."

Spike's eyes flickered to the desktop and were greeted by numbers. He could feel a headache coming on. "Circumstances change, Amber." He replied very carefully. "Never people."

"I think you're wrong."

"And _I _think Faye and Alex won't last a year. They can do whatever they want, but I won't be around for her to come running to when this blows up in her face."

Hesitation. Brown met blue and Spike knew immediately he had said something wrong.

"Spike…" Amber's brow was furrowed and her voice was low bordering on reluctant. "I hate to tell you, but Alex King is rich as the devil and handsome as sin. Maybe she won't want to give all of that up. And maybe there are more factors than you know." She drew another breath and opened her mouth to speak again, but she must have thought better of it. Her lips sealed and the air pushed itself out of her lungs in an almost frustrated sigh. Amber stood and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of her jeans, sticking one in her mouth and lighting up.

Spike was silent for a moment, watching her through half-lidded brown eyes, hands folded neatly in his lap. "Finish," He said very calmly, giving her the smallest of smiles. "What were you going to say?"

Big blue eyes turned to him, disinclined under a carefully arched eyebrow. "You haven't exactly been good to her, Spike. I don't expect you to understand because you weren't here when everything happened, but…" A pause as she gathered her thoughts. Amber's eyes moved back to the carpet. "You're my friend Spike, and I love you to pieces. But you have to know that there's no reason for her to go back to you. Especially after what you did."

"She was never _with_ me, Amber." Spike said quietly. Amber's cigarette slipped from her fingers but she didn't move to pick it up. The rug smoldered at her feet.

"Exactly."

Spike let his eyelids slide closed and moved his hand up to scratch the back of his head. As long fingers tangled in wild hair, nails digging into the flesh of his scalp, he was silent. He could smell the carpet scorching but didn't really give a crap either way. Alex would just replace it if necessary. He was taking the moment to think about Faye, _really _think about her, because she deserved at least that. Amber was right; there was no reason for her to ever want to speak to him again, and he should have considered himself lucky she had taken the time to come and see him at all. But when it came down to it, he wasn't. All it had done was reminded him how easy things had been last time despite the Red Dragon fiasco, and shown him just how false all of that had been. Because here he was again.

But loyalty had always been his fatal flaw. And so it would remain.

Russet eyes snapped open. Amber was standing very still, watching him with very sad blue eyes. "You can take the rest of the day off if you want, Beaumont." Spike said languidly, giving her a lopsided grin to ease the lines of worry on her face. "I couldn't have done it without you."

A corner of Amber's mouth twitched. "Done what?"

"Fucked up so badly." He said with a casual shrug.

"Somehow I think you'd have managed." She said sweetly, inclining her head as a sign of respect. It was then she bent and picked up the cigarette, crushing it smoothly in Spike's ashtray with a smile. "But I think I'll stick around anyway, just incase you need some more help in that department."

Amber was out the door before Spike could even say goodbye.

* * *

Judith Roxanne Monticello-King held the vial up to the light. It flashed red and she had to smile. Fucking beautiful. 

"And you shall shed red tears," She laughed wryly, darting a glance at her best friend. The girls were alone in Jude's bedroom, adrift on a sea of peach floral brocade and very white carpet. "This should be fun."

"It's good stuff," Bijoux Valois affirmed a little vacantly, picking absently at the bedspread. "That's what Audrey said."

Jude cocked an eyebrow. Audrey knew what she was talking about. "Do you want it?" she asked, offering the vial to Bijoux. The other girl sat up and cocked her head, her brow furrowed.

"What about you?"

Jude shrugged one shoulder. "I have some stuff to do later. And I've got something else, anyway. Alex just got it and gave some to me."

"Something new?"

"Yeah. Brand new."

Brown eyes widened. "What is it?" The vial flashed crimson as Jude laughed and tossed it to Bijoux, who caught it and hugged it to her breast.

"Like that," she said with a head jerk towards the liquid clasped in her friends hands. "But stronger."

"Red Eye?"

"No. Bloody Eye."

And they laughed like it wasn't the same in the end, anyway.

* * *

"I'm really sorry Miss Valentine, but Mr. King isn't in his office right now." 

Faye was silent for a long moment, her eyes narrowed almost dangerously. "Excuse me?"

Alex's secretary's brown eyes widened slightly, a nervous smile plastered on her lips. "He's been in meetings upstairs since eleven. I'm really sorry, Miss Valentine…" She trailed off.

A flick of her wrist and Faye was checking her watch, her mouth twisting into a snarl as she caught the time. Eleven forty five. Fuck. The perfect window of time had passed, and now she was bordering on incompetent. Green eyes darted back up to meet brown once more. "Do you know how long he'll be gone?" Her left had tightened its hold on the picnic basket she carried, her hip popping involuntarily. Beatrice had sent her on this fucked up little errand almost an hour ago, but the traffic had been bad bordering on ridiculous, and now Alex was in 'meetings'. Alex didn't go to meetings. Everyone knew that. Faye sincerely doubted he even knew what one was in the business sense of the term.

"I'm so _so _sorry Miss Valentine, but I have no idea."

"You can call me Faye if you want."

"Oh… Okay Miss Valentine. You can take a seat if you want. I'm sure he would like to see you…"

It was very hard for Faye to keep from laughing. It was impossible for her to imagine Alex actually _wanting _to see her, and she wasn't about to waist precious brain cells trying. There was no reason for her to stay, anyway. She had better things to do with her life than waiting for Alex to wander past his office for coffee, especially when the spawn of Satan, otherwise known as Beatrice, was making even that ten times more difficult than it would ever have to be.

"You know, I don't think I'll stick around." She heaved the picnic basket into the secretary's arms. "Could you just make sure he gets this? Tell him it's from me." Faye did her best to smile past her irritation, although in some small way it was a relief to have Alex gone. It just made everything that much faster.

"Oh, sure Miss Valentine. I'll let him know." The secretary's eyes were getting bigger by the minute, and a very satisfied Faye watched almost triumphantly as the petite woman began to retreat back into the safety of what passed as her office. The door clicked closed, leaving Faye alone in the hallway.

A job well done.

She turned neatly on her heel, her smile fading fast from her lips. She didn't know why she had anything to prove to Beatrice, but still Faye found herself fighting to gain her approval, her respect, her admiration. It was bullshit and she knew it, but that didn't seem to be making much of a difference.

Faye reached the end of the hall quickly, the combined effects of her quick steps and Alex's compulsive need to be close to the elevator. Her thumb pressed the call button and she hung back, crossing her arms almost self-consciously under her chest. She shifted her weight and back again. Glanced back over her shoulder at the very empty hall. It was as she slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans that she saw it. A wooden double door with gold embossed letters that read:

**_Spike Spiegel  
Administration_**

Spike's office. Faye took a step closer, wondering idly if he was there, what he would be doing if he was. Paperwork, probably. Lots and lots of paperwork. And maybe smoking, too, if he had started again. She had, and it just served as one more reminder her very perfect life two years ago had been painfully temporary. But still she lingered, her eyes glued to the door, the doorknob, the first letter of his name. Her mind was spinning with possibilities. The curiosity was devastating. The ding of the elevator arriving was what drew her out of her meditation, but by the time she ripped her attention from the shiny gold S the doors were sliding closed, ushering the plush box to another floor. Too late.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.

Faye's hand was on the doorknob before she could register what she was doing, the metal cool against the sensitive flesh of her palm. And then she was twisting and watching the movements of her own arm with a kind of sick fascination and counting the seconds until it would be too late to run. Excuses were flooding her mind. They were all crap and she knew it.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fucking hell. Fuck. She was fucked.

The door was open just enough to gather what was beyond it, and Faye could see an office. Large, relatively bright, nicely furnished. There were a couple of bookshelves scattered around the room, a big leather chair in one corner, and a polished wooden desk in the center dominating the space. But her eye was drawn straight to the window behind it because that's where Spike was, his shoulder pressed to the glass as he looked out at an angle. The late morning light was catching beautifully in his hair and making it almost green, playing across his features to make them sharp and very definite, almost like he was carved into stone. Faye felt the feeling drain very slowly from her body from the top down, her eyes locking onto his lithe form and refusing to go elsewhere. She sensed herself moving forward, her palm flat on the door to push it further open, but those sensations were very distant. Her entire consciousness was focused on Spike and trying to draw the moment out as long as possible, desperately seeking to make his rough beauty tangible. He must have felt her stare; with a slow, deliberate turn, his eyes caught hers and held them, one hand sliding into his pocket and his mouth screwing up into a cool, almost mocking smile.

"People are gonna think something is going on if you keep coming to see me like this." Spike's voice was smooth and very concise, pushing Faye into a good mood so his words hardly sunk in.

"Since when did you care what other people thought?" Faye took a step forward, popping a hip and watching him, her own voice sounding very far away. He was backlit now, deeply shadowed by the grungy Tharsis light but enchanting all the same. He looked like an amateur photograph, hazy but artistic in its own way.

"I'm starting to think you don't know me as well as you let on."

"Does anyone?" A quick smile to match Spike's, but Faye couldn't hold it for long. Too much effort, too little reward. He probably couldn't tell the difference, anyway. Spike gave her a little laugh and moved away from the window, his other hand finding a pocket as he came to stand beside his desk, dark eyes looking Faye up and down less than subtly.

"If you're here to give me another of Alex's little messages, forget about it. I'm not interested."

"I'm Alex's fiancée, not his envoy."

"Hey, I'm just learning from the past." One eyebrow rose neatly. "Isn't that what you people have been telling me to do this whole time?"

Faye assumed 'you people' meant her and Jet. She bristled slightly, but she could tell by his tone he was joking in that fucked up way of his. "You are an incredible asshole. Do you know that?"

"You're the one that came to me, Faye. And if it doesn't have anything to do with Alex, I'm not sure I have time." Spike smirked suggestively and stretched his arms up to lock his hands behind his head. He watched her and she squirmed under his gaze, glaring back. His voice was light and amused as he replied, "How can I help you, Faye?"

She just sighed loud and long, an overly theatrical display of all the sorrow and regret she didn't feel. "I'm sorry Spike," Faye said, flipping her hair back and grasping at straws. Any excuse to get away would work. "But you can't. As much as I know it must pain you to see me go, I must leave you now. There just aren't enough hours in the day." A blush and a wave of her hand left Faye free to make her escape, wondering at how that had passed for an excuse at all. She was at the door when Spike spoke again.

"Is the wild calling you?"

"You bet it is."

"Well in that case, maybe I should show you out. You know, considering that you came all the way here just to see me, it seems a waste to just go now."

"Don't flatter yourself," Faye said smugly, pivoting to face him. "I'm here to bring Alex lunch. He wasn't there." If the new bit of information fazed Spike at all, there were no visible signs.

"He's never there," Came the easy reply. Spike started towards the door and Faye, just to maintain a reasonable distance from him, moved out into the hallway. Finding nothing there to distract her, she pressed the call button on the elevator a total of four times. Spike just watched her in silence as she did so, his hands busy closing the door to his office. But then the door was shut and the elevator was called, and all that was left to do was wait.

No one spoke. The pair stood silently against the wall, close enough for discomfort on Faye's part but not anywhere near touching. Awkward. When the elevator finally arrived, the signature _ding! _heralding the sliding open of the doors, Faye was the first off the wall and the first in, eager to get this over with. Spike had always made her vaguely uncomfortable, and now more than ever she wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately for her, the elevator was a contained space and Spike seemed to have a knack for getting the empty ones. Faye hit the button that would take them to the lobby, content to spend the long ride down in absolute and incredibly uncomfortable silence. Her eyes fixed on the screen above the doors as they locked in place, shutting her in. They began their descent.

One floor down. Spike took a spot next to Faye, slouching against the richly upholstered wall. He reached up to scratch his wild mess of hair and the sound of fingernails on skin made Faye squirm.

Three floors down. She shifted her weight and he did the same. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he began to search his pockets.

Four floors down. It was a pack of cigarettes he had been searching for. Faye was a little taken aback as he pulled a white cylinder from his crumpled pack and put it in his mouth, lighting it quickly and beginning to puff. The NO SMOKING sign on the wall across from them glared.

Seven floors down.

"You started smoking again." Faye said suddenly, a little put out. She turned her head to look at him and he smirked, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it like she used to hold her joints in high school.

"Yeah."

" Me too." That admission hurt a hell of a lot more than it should have. In some fucked up way it felt that they had given up on life, on health, on each other.

Ten floors down. Spike offered her his cigarette. Faye took it, taking a long drag before handing it back. It slid between his lips and she shuddered, wanting to touch him so badly it hurt. Fuck. The next time he handed it over, thirteen floors down, she make sure their fingers brushed. Spike just cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

At fourteen floors down the elevator jerked to a halt and two women got on, both dressed in expensive grey suits. They held pistols in their hands and were doing routine maintenance, checking clips and triggers and barrels. They each gave Spike a nod of recognition and stepped in, continuing their conversation.

_"… and I told her that the shipments had to been in right on time because-"  
"Yeah, the window."  
"Exactly. But she said to me…"_

Spike turned to Faye, the cigarette hanging from his lips. "So you and Jude are buddies."

"You know, she talks about you a lot."

"What does she say?"

Faye grinned, a little surprised that he wanted to know. Maybe she really _didn't_ know him as well as she let on.

The women continued.

_"You know Gabi, don't you? The bitchy receptionist?"  
"Yeah. Didn't she sleep with Jake?"  
"After the divorce. So Gabi called my secretary last night, and…"_

"I don't think I'm allowed to tell you." Faye replied smugly, relishing the power. Spike just shrugged, his nonchalance putting a serious damper on her fun.

"I'll find out somehow." He shot her a meaningful look. "I always do."

"_Do_ you now?"

"I do. One way or another." A wink. Beautiful.

_Ding!_

Faye tore her eyes away from Spike to see the elevator doors opening to reveal the lovely lobby of Red Dragon Incorporated, bustling and shiny and very a la mode. The two women stepped out into the throng, their continuing conversation drowned out by footfalls and chatter, lost to the general commotion. Spike was next out, the cigarette still in his mouth, his hands in his pockets again. When Faye didn't follow immediately, choosing instead to fish around in her purse for her own pack of smokes, he turned back and gave her a look. She heaved a sigh and followed, trailing after him as he pushed through the freakishly crowded room. There was hardly room to breathe and Faye might have lost Spike if he wasn't so god damn tall. The fact that he wrapped a hand around her wrist to pull her along behind him, while it did nothing to establish her independence of him, was easily overlooked in the general unrest.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Faye managed to communicate to Spike in one of the rare moments he turned back to her. He just shrugged and moved ahead, giving her a smile like he would a pat on the head to a worried dog. They must have been almost to the door when Amber caught up with them, panting and tussled.

"Spike!"

They stopped abruptly as she emerged from the crowd. Her eyes were wide and her hair was a complete mess. Faye couldn't deny that she got some kind of perverse pleasure from seeing her such a wreck; they had never gotten along all that well.

"Hey Amber," Spike said smoothly, debonair as all hell. "What's happening here?"

Amber shrugged, looking around them at the mass of people milling around with guns glimmering in their hands. A kind of bubble had been formed around the three of them, maybe a sign of respect for Spike, although Faye didn't particularly want to dwell on it. "It's another protest. Alex called for all the reinforcements and then left. No one knows exactly what's going on."

"What does it look like outside?"

"Typical mob scene, maybe on a kind of bigger scale. Nothing to be worried about, I don't think." Amber flashed a weak smile.

Spike craned his neck subtly and scanned the room. "Do you think you can take care of it for me?"

Amber's blue eyes shot to Faye, looked her up and down almost pityingly, and she nodded. "Sure I can. I don't think it's a very big deal. But I'd take the back way out if I was you, Spike. She's kind of a public figure." She said with a head jerk towards Faye.

"Great. Thanks Amber." With a nod of goodbye, Spike was moving away with his hand still wrapped tight around Faye's wrist, not even bothering to let her know just where they were going. But all of that was distant; no matter how hard she tried, Faye couldn't look away from Amber, so weary amidst the movement. It wasn't until she was lost to the crowd that Faye could turn away, but even then she could feel the heavy, sinking feeling she only got when something poignant was looming.

The day would not end well.

* * *

Alex always had an extra car or two outside the building just in case, and today was no exception. Spike had pulled Faye from the building and into a shiny black luxury sedan before she could argue, although as he did it he wasn't sure why he was so concerned. She had proven to him time and time again she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, even if she did get a little scraped up along the way. Now, fifteen minutes into the ride and seated amidst black leather and chilled champagne in the back of the car, Spike worked hard to keep his eyes out the window. His spent cigarette was somewhere in the street behind him, but Faye had found her own pack and was puffing happily away. The smell was making him sick and he chocked it up to her girly brand, if only because he couldn't think of any other reason. It couldn't be anything psychological, surely. 

"Are you sure it was such a good idea to leave Amber all alone?" Faye said suddenly and he could feel the tension around her crack, like she had been brooding for a long time. He shot her a sideways look but she didn't notice, focused instead out the window. Her cigarette was poised between two fingers and she looked very romantic and silhouette-esqe, side lit as she was.

"What are you talking about?" Spike replied lazily.

"She looked tired. Worn down."

"I'm sure she is."

"So you just leave and hope she comes through it alright?"

A shrug. "She said she could handle it."

"And you believed her?"

"Sometimes you just have to run with it, Faye."

Faye scoffed and took a long pull on her cigarette before rolling down the window and tossing it out to join Spike's in the road. The wind and the smell of mown grass whipped around for a moment, catching in her hair and dragging it in a beautiful halo around her face before it was sucked up by the vents and compromised, sterilized, and spit back out with an extra kick of new car smell. Spike's eyes moved away from her face and back out the window, tracing the power lines as they turned onto Coltrane Avenue. Billion woolong houses whizzed past with nothing more than a second glance.

"I think we need to talk."

Spike started, cocking his head so he could see her. "Excuse me?" Green met brown.

"I said I think we need to talk."

"Sorry, Faye, but those are six words I never thought I'd hear from you," He replied with a chuckle. He found himself digging for another cigarette for lack of anything better to do. When Faye finally handed him one, he couldn't quite bring himself to smoke it. Instead, he slid it very discreetly between the seat and the door. Gone for eternity. Or at least until Alex had the car detailed.

"Last year was a mistake. You know that, right?" Faye still wasn't looking at him. He deserved that at least, didn't he?

"That depends," Spike replied. "Which part?" Heat was rising on her face, spreading from the bridge of her nose across her cheeks and down to her throat. He followed it with his eyes, his throat clenching uncomfortably as the flush crept past her collarbone.

"Come on, Spike." She murmured.

Ah. _That_ part. He just shrugged, letting his goofy grin dominate his face. "I don't know, Faye. I kinda liked that part." She shot him a sideways glance and he winked at her, all in the name of fun and games. Faye did not, however, seemed amused. Her left eyebrow twitched. Oops.

"It was stupid. Let's forget about it, okay?"

"Forget about what?" Their eyes met for another millisecond and he could see she understood. Faye nodded, satisfied, and turned back to the window. Spike was left at the mercy of his thoughts. Something about writing off whatever had happened last year didn't sit well with him; maybe Amber was kind of right when she said he never did anything just for the hell of it. But sitting next to Faye in the car, watching from the corner of his eye as the pink flush bled from her skin, he knew he had to let it go. It was one night, one more stupid thing he had done. It was over, they couldn't take it back (although he probably wouldn't if he could), and it was time to recognize it would never happen again. In the end, it was just like Faye said: a mistake. It wouldn't happen again because it _couldn't. _Spike wouldn't let it, if only because that would jeopardize everything he had striven for for so long now.

It was as Spike's rumination trickled to an end that the car jerked to a halt. He refocused his eyes to see that the car had pulled up to Alex's front door. Spike pushed open the door before the driver, currently helping Faye out, could offer his assistance. With his hands once more in his pockets and his shoulders slouched, Spike began his walk up the front stairs to the door by way of the porch. Of course, Jude was waiting.

"Spike!" She cried, flinging the door open and rushing down the stairs with her three dogs barking at her heels. The two Tibetan terriers Beatrice had given her as gifts a few years ago, named Shampoo and Jeremy upon their arrival, hung around the top step and watched with vague interest as their mistress flew down the steps and launched herself at Spike, wrapping her arms around his neck. The third dog, a bulldog named Winston because of tradition alone, charged on bowlegs to bite Spike's ankle with a mouthful that might have killed a lesser man. He was a foul dog, a gift of goodwill from Alex to his little sister, and the most valuable canine on all of mars, possibly with the exception of Ein. He was also, unfortunately, the absolute ugliest and probably the stupidest too. But it wasn't the dog Spike was focused on.

"Hey, Jude…" He laughed for lack of anything else to do. He refused to take his hands out of his pockets, making her embrace an awkward one that knocked them down a couple of steps. Spike could tell from her voice and the way she hugged him so close that she was high and it depressed him just a little bit. Jude was young, beautiful, had everything laid out at her feet. There were a lot of ways to live a life like that; it was one hell of a waste to spend it like she did. And of all people, Spike would know. "What did Alex give you this time?"

She laughed in his ear and it was a beautiful sound, drug induced or not. "Bloody eye…" She whispered in his ear, her breath hot on the side of his face. Spike nodded his understanding and pushed her off him very patiently, trying very hard to ignore how huffily Faye stalked up the steps past them, moody and trailed by Shampoo and Jeremy as she strutted into the house. When Spike turned his attention from her retreating form to Jude, now standing expectantly a few inches before him and easily six foot two in her heels, the difference was staggering. Jude was still her usual perfection, but her blue eyes were so bloodshot it made Spike sick with memory. Thick veins were standing out, glaringly red against the perfect white of her eyes. Bloody-eye indeed. A slip of the hand and Spike had produced a vial of very thin red fluid from the back pocket of Jude's jeans, holding it up to the sun and squinting to get a better look. She was a surprisingly calm junkie considering the concentration and quality of the drug pinched between two of Spike's fingers, but that wasn't necessarily unexpected coming from Jude. Spike had to remind himself that Jude's addictions, whatever they might be, weren't his problem. Especially as Alex burst out the front doors, cold and steely with a cell-phone in a death grip in one hand. Spike's eyes flickered to him and he could feel himself go cold.

Something was very wrong.

"Did you leave the building today? When you knew what was going on?" Alex spat as he neared Spike and Jude on the steps, kicking an inquisitive Winston away. With a squeal the dog waddled back inside the house, but Spike wasn't so lucky as to be discarded so easily.

"Jude is high. You know that, right?" Spike said very deliberately. Alex just glanced over to his sister, now standing on the bottom step and braiding her hair while looking pensive and poetic, and nodded.

"Of course I know. Now answer the question you son of a bitch."

Very, very wrong.

"Amber told me she could handle it." Spike said, calm as he could possibly be with the sneaking suspicion that something very bad had happened.

"Well," Alex replied, his voice icy and seething as Spike had never heard it before. "I'm glad you're so easy to convince, Spike-o. Because that was Amelia today. Amber is fucking dead."

Even in the sticky June heat, Spike Spiegel was numb.

Dead. That was an awfully strong word.

* * *

**A/N: Alas! The last Amber/Spike 'And How Do You _Feel_ About That?' talks! sniffles I did have my reasons for doing what I did, including the fact that Amber wasn't actually supposed to be in Lucifer's Garden at all. I was having trouble with the first chapter and, what do you know! putting Amber in solved all my problems. It's also a plot device, now that I think about it. :) I hope you liked, and I also hope your champagne buzzes last longer than mine. :D J/K. I'm not buzzed. Mostly. :)**

**Love you guys so much! I really appreciate the reviews, I don't think I will ever be able to express to you how much. Thank you! **

Rock on,

**Lucy**


	5. Cut and Run

**Lucifer's Garden **

**A/N: So it's finals week and I should probably be studying right now, but I got hit by a fatal wave of inspiration. This is the very last of the vauge chapters where you watch my try desperately to juggle character intros, exposition, and plot advancement. From here on out it's all intense rising action (although very little physical action), so enjoy this most mellow of chapters. A lot of you have voiced concerns about the pairing in this fic: IT IS SxF! As you'll see shortly, actually. You guys have to give me some time to flesh out their relationship. Things didn't end so well for them last time and I'm discovering new things about them as I go along. :) And t****hanks somuch for all of the reviews! I really appreciate them. And gratzi for sticking with me, guys. I know it's like pulling teeth right now, but I'm trying! It makes me happy to make you happy. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. **

* * *

**Session Five:**

**Cut and Run**

**

* * *

**_**Today is gonna the day that they're gonna throw it back to you  
By now you shoulda somehow realized what you gotta do  
I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do  
About you now **_

**-Oasis**

**

* * *

**"I know it's a little strange," Alex was saying, his voice husky from synthetic tears, "to have a funeral in a garden. Especially on such a hot day. But believe me, there are a lot of reasons." He paused and Faye heaved a sigh, clearing her throat lightly as she leaned back in her seat. It kind of a hot day for a funeral, but also a beautiful one. Sunday June 6th, the day of Amber Beaumont's service, was so amazing it gave Faye goosebumps. And the most intimate of Alex's gardens, the selected venue, was practically Eden. But everything Alexander King did was flawless; why should this be any different? 

"She was such and amazing woman," The woman Faye's right said, adjusting the child on her lap and leaning over to whisper. "Did you know her very well?"

Faye hesitated, her eyes snapping from Alex to the casket set before the crowd. It was mahogany, polished to a high sheen, lined with white silk. Inside was Amber's body, still and as impeccably done up as it had been in life. "Not nearly as well as I should've." She muttered back. The woman nodded, satisfied, and turned her attention back to the little girl she held. She was cooing, smiling, drawing the kid in for a tight hug. Alex went on.

"But mostly it's because I believe that in a place where someone has striven so hard to create life, nothing can ever truly die…" From the row behind, Spike cleared his throat and coughed a little, ripping Faye's attention from her fiancé once more. She had hardly seen Spike in the four days since Amber's death; he was working nonstop for Alex. Of course, four days was comparatively no time at all, but somehow the boredom had stretched it into all the time in the world. "By saying goodbye to Amber here, it's like she will always be with us. As long as these trees grow and these flowers bloom, she can't be forgotten. As long as there is a garden here, she can never die." Another cough from Spike. Faye sighed and watched her fingers pull at the hem of her pretty white dress. She wished he would quit it, but more than that she wished Alex would just shut up. Faye was no stranger to funerals and knew Alex better than she liked to admit; this could take a while.

"She was the sweetest woman I've ever met." The woman whispered again, leaning in once more. "She babysat for me all of the time. We loved her." The husky voice trailed off and Faye glanced over at her. She was a woman in her early to mid twenties, not strictly beautiful but fascinatingly exotic. Her long hair was very black and hung loose down her back and over her shoulders, dark eyes nostalgic as she aimlessly wiped at a spot on her daughter's cheek. The little girl was no more than eighteen months old with huge green eyes and fine dark hair like her mother's, currently pulled into two pigtails on the sides of her round head. Cute enough, but children had always depressed Faye.

"Yeah," Was all Faye could think of to say. "Really sweet." She gave a weak kind of smile and her eyes involuntarily flickered to the woman's left hand. No ring. Embarrassed, Faye diverted her eyes, continuing to pull deftly at her hem. She didn't really mind people having children without being married (like it was any of her business, anyway) but now that she was engaged, seeing single mothers made her stomach sick with guilt. It had always looked so hard to raise a kid and it must have been torture for this woman to do it on her own. There was also the little voice in the back of her mind telling her over and over that if she wasn't careful, _she _would be the one with a baby. That thought had always freaked her out, especially now that she was getting married strictly as a means to an end. Spike coughed again and Faye winced, working to suppress thoughts of how things might have turned out if she had gotten unlucky two Valentine's Days ago. It didn't help knowing that in some alternate universe she had.

There was a flash off to the right as something caught the sunlight and a pleased coo from the kid. Faye glanced back at the dark haired woman and her daughter. A ring on a fine gold chain had fallen out of the woman's shirt, gold with a single diamond chip. Fat baby hands grasped it and tugged. The woman just smiled fondly and pulled the ring from the child's hands, stuffing it under her shirt. White, just like all of the other guests. One of Alex's weird little requests. Only Spike had worn black and only because, as far as Faye knew, he didn't own anything nicer than a grease streaked t-shirt in white.

"What's your daughter's name?" Faye asked before she could stop herself.

"Her name is Zoë. I couldn't decide, so I flipped to the end of the name book…" The woman laughed softly and pulled Zoë into another close embrace, resting her chin on the little girl's head. "My fiancé, he was the same way. Couldn't decide a thing. I guess it's another reason it's better we never got married." Her eyes met Faye's and there was such resigned sorrow there it made her stomach turn. "What kind of life would that be? Letting other people make choices for us all of the time?"

Faye didn't want to ask, but she had to. "What happened to him?"

The woman was silent for a few moments, maybe having second thoughts about starting the conversation at all. But after a minute or so she replied, "He died. An accident at work just before Zoë was born. Four days before, actually. I'm not sure just what happened, but in his business… I mean, it happens all of the time. Really, it does." Faye didn't have to ask what business he had been in.

_We're getting married in three or so weeks, just before my daughter is born…_

"Did he… work with Amber?"

She was nodding, smiling, her eyes shining. "He did. How did you know?"

Faye shrugged weakly, turning back to Alex and swallowing hard. Amber's grandmother, an old teetering woman, had stood to join him and help close the lid of the coffin, although she wasn't much help by the looks of it. "Just a guess." She muttered. If Zoë really was a year and a half old and Faye's memory hadn't failed her yet again, odds were that those familiar green eyes belonged to…

The casket closed with a dry snap. Faye wasn't particularly affected by the knowledge that Amber was going to be shut in a pretty wooden box forever. It seemed almost surreal, actually. "If all of you would please take your roses and place them on the casket on your way out, it would be a great way to say goodbye." Alex said, panting only slightly and looking very pleased with himself indeed. "One at a time please." He smiled and the first person stood, a single pink rose in his hand. A moment passed in silence before the man placed the flower on the glimmering wood and exited the garden, heading towards the house. The next person stood.

"You know," The woman said suddenly, adjusting Zoë on her lap and fishing under the seat for her own flower. "I kind of wish I'd never gotten involved with any of this." She found it and gave a satisfied sigh, settling back into her seat. "There's so much death in this business." Her dark eyes flickered to Faye's own left hand, widening marginally when she saw 'the ring' and returning quickly to her face. "You must know. It's hard to wake in the morning and know that any one of the people you know could be dead by the time you go to sleep, isn't it? I mean, that kind of stuff's only supposed to happen in movies."

"What's your name?" Faye asked softly, almost in a haze.

_My girlfriend's name is…_

"It's Celia." The man sitting next to Celia stood. She would have to go. "It was nice meeting you…?"

"Faye."

"Faye." Celia said the name slowly, tasting it on her lips. Faye could see her try to process it, try to remember where she had heard it before. When it was finally her turn to pay her respects, she gave up. "You know, it helps to talk about it. I appreciate it." With a smile Celia stood, hoisting Zoë up with her and balancing her on her hip.

With a shrug and a little smile, Faye replied, "So do I. Good luck with everything."

"You too."

Faye Valentine leaned back in her chair and watched Celia and Zoë walk up and lay their rose on Amber's casket. She knew they didn't have anything to do with Faye; their only connection was Faye's brief acquaintance with a man long cold in hisgrave. But after everything, it was good to know they were both okay.

Maybe there was some hope for Faye, yet.

* * *

Spike didn't move to stand until all of the guests were gone. Faye, Jude, and Beatrice had long since left, Jinn's old girlfriend Celia and been among the first to go. Even Amber's grandmother, the only family she had ever had, was long gone, wobbling unsteadily towards the house. But Alex was still there. He stood his ground up at the front, his hands in his pockets and the sunlight catching his suit, a perfect cut of white silk. His eyes were trained on Spike as he stood slowly, a single white rose gripped loosely in one hand. 

"Nice speech." Spike ground out as he took his first step towards the casket.

"Thanks," Alex replied smugly. "I thought you might like it."

Russet eyes fell from Alex's face to the rose in his hand. It wasn't like the others because Spike wasn't like the other guests; his rose was white. Silence. When he had been young and stupid and reckless to the point of idiocy (not that he was any different now), bringing white roses to the funerals of the men and women he had killed had been a kind of tradition. A proverbial dog treat. Now, years older but no wiser, he was doing it again.

"So you're treating Amber like one of your hits." Alex observed as Spike made his way forward, somewhere between amused and resigned. "How appropriate."

Spike was silent for a long time, deliberately crushing neatly cut blades of grass as he moved down the aisle towards the casket. It was blanketed in single pink roses now, poignant in the setting sun. Spike stopped short two feet away from Alex, from the coffin, from the lingering chill of death. "Are you sure you want it to be this way?" He said causally.

"It's your choice Spike." Alex's eyes flashed and his mouth turned up at the corners. "Although it seems a little late at this point."

Both men considered this in the failing light. Then, although slowly and somewhat reluctantly, Spike took two steps forward and placed the white rose gently at the top of the pile. Now that it was done, he could see it was the right thing to do. Slender hands slid into pockets and Spike let his shoulders roll forward. The permanence of Amber's condition pressed heavily on the air.

"You didn't think I'd let her go, did you?" Alex said. His eyes were on Spike,the gazegoing unmet.

"She was no use to you alive. Dead she's just one more way to manipulate the situation."

"You haven't even begun paying for this, Spike."

"Yeah, I figured."

"We're next. You know that, right?"

Spike's eyes flickered to Alex's face.

"What?"

"Amelia. I've been thinking. She wouldn't have come to the building if she wasn't after something." A pause. "She's trying to kill me, Spike."

"We won't be ready to move for months, Alex. There's nothing I can do about it."

The way Alex was looking at him, Spike was getting the impression there_ was _something he could do about it.

"I want you to take care of this. Tomorrow night."

"Impossible."

"You won't have to organize a huge group, Spike. I want you to do this alone and under the cover of darkness."

There was a distinct turning of his stomach that Spike recognized all too well. "You know, Alex," he said lightly, "I can't destroy an entire establishment in one night."

"You've done it before." Big violet eyes softened. A puppy-dog look.

With a shrug Spike relied, "That was kind of a one-time thing."

"And I don't need you to take down the whole she-bang. Just Amelia. We can always pick up the trash later, but I can't have her around."

"This will never work."

Alex's teeth flashed as his little smile turned into a full-blown grin. The sun slipped behind a tree. "_Make _it work. It's not only me she's after. Faye, Jude, my mom, you… it's only a matter of time. She hates us. She'll take us all out by the end."

Another moment was spent considering. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

Spike let his mouth twist into a smirk. "Consider it done." Russet eyes met purple with a look that screamed casual hatred. "But someday you're gonna have to learn to stop asking me to kill myself."

Alex's eyes were coy under an arched brow. "Like I'd ever send you to die, Spike-o."

"I always _thought _you'd wanna do it yourself." Spike replied, turning on the ball of his foot and walking deliberately past Alex in the direction of the pool house.

"I don't know, Spike." A pause. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"I'm sorry Mr. and Mrs. Black, but I'm not sure I understand."

Jet cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, glancing at Alyssa. She squeezed his hand encouragingly.

"We… uh… we wanted to adopt the little girl-"

"Young woman," Alyssa cut in.

"The uh… young woman that lives with us."

"Ed. Her name is Ed."

The woman behind the desk looked between them skeptically. "Does she have a last name?"

Jet and Alyssa sat in mortified silence, searching their memories desperately.

"Woo?"

"No, Triv… Triv-something."

"Or Pepelu?"

"Wasn't it Spiegel?"

"That's Spike, sweetheart."

"Applebottom?"

"Francis!"

"Yes! In French! Francoise!"

They sighed in unison, relieved, and turned to face the woman behind the desk.

"Edward Francoise?" She said sharply, a thin brown eyebrow carefully arched. She was an intimidating woman, even to Jet. But then, he had found that most social workers were. "Are you sure?"

Jet furrowed his brow, giving his memory one last scan. It was then he realized, with an appropriate degree of embarrassment and horror, that Francoise _might _have _possibly _been Ed's _first _name. He was debating whether to say anything when Alyssa turned to him and said very sweetly, "Of course! Right Jet?"

"You know," He murmured, "It's possible that Francoise is Ed's first name…" He coughed to drown out the words, but it was too late.

"Are you saying that you don't even know the name of the child you want to adopt?" The thin eyebrowed woman cut in, glaring from behind her desk. Alyssa's eyes widened and softened around the corners. Jet mentally cursed and squeezed her hand like she had his. She was getting emotional.

"Hey, it's not like she uses it!" He snapped back, keeping his anger nicely in check. The social worker narrowed her eyes at him.

"You said her first name was Francoise."

"It is." Alyssa affirmed, clearing her throat and crossing her legs.

"Do you know what planet she was born on?" Cold eyes moved between the Blacks. "Or did that escape you in the…" She checked the application on her desk. "Five and a half years this girl has lived with you?"

"She was born on Earth. I assume her father is still there." Jet replied, narrowing his eyes right back at her.

"Father?"

"Yes."

"And he's the one who has custody over her?"

"I should think so."

The social worker's already thin lips compressed into a flat line as she turned to her computer and punched in some data. With a modest flourish she pressed the enter key and waited as something loaded. Maybe twenty seconds of hell later, she glanced back at Jet and Alyssa.

"If you want custody, you'll have to find the biological parents and prove them unfit. I'd suggest hiring a private investigator. You'll also need her consent. Her full name wouldn't hurt." The woman pulled a packet out of a drawer and slid it across the desk. Jet picked it up. It looked like an informational packet. The Blacks hesitated for a moment, glanced at each other wide-eyed, and finally smiled.

"Full name," Alyssa stated.

"We'll get right on that." Jet finished.

The social worker looked between them. Was it just Jet's imagination, or were the corners of her mouth turning up? "I wish you two the best of luck. I'm sure you'll make great parents."

Yep. Probably the closest that woman had ever gotten to a smile.

* * *

Faye was up and dressed early the morning after Amber's funeral for one reason and one reason alone; to avoid Jude and Beatrice. It was Monday, therefore mother/daughter brunch day, which meant two hours of chugging mimosas and listening to Beatrice bitch about being old andJude bitch about being young. For the first few weeks, Faye really hadn't minded. She had been making a sincere effort to like them back then. Now it was just a game of hide and seek; she would hide, they would seek, and if they didn't find her by ten thirty, she was off the hook. Usually she grabbed a book from Alex's collection and slipped out into the gardens to read and sleep and think in solitude for a while. Today was no different, and eight o'clock found Faye curled against an old oak tree in the middle of the property. It was on a small hill and surrounded only by tall grass. It might have been conspicuous, but her in-laws rarely came out here. For all intensive purposes, Faye was safe. 

She turned the page of her book, letting the pad of her index finger trace the line of the page. The paper was old and soft, bringing a kind of nostalgic peace to Faye's mind, something that had been rare for as long as she could remember. She was a perfect example of an excitable kid who had grown up into a restless woman; she vaguely remembered playing the piano calmed her down, but she had long forgotten how. Now it was anything old, books especially, and luckily they weren't hard to find in the King home. Faye wasn't reading it, wasn't really interested, but she loved the smell and the feel of the leather and the weight of it in her hands. It was a good moment and she didn't want it to end. It would of course, probably courtesy of Alex… she vaguely recalled that wedding preparations started today. He would want her to meet the wedding planner. But all of that was very distant and, at least for now, easy to put out of her mind. Spike, however, was an entirely different matter. That was largely due to the fact that he had appeared right in front of her, directly in the line of her sight.

"Hey there, Faye," He said pleasantly, his mouth a pretty smirk. "I didn't know you could read."

Faye glowered up at him from behind dark, dark sunglasses but didn't make any move to physically harm him (although the thought did cross her mind). "Shut up, you." She replied lightly. She was in a particularly good mood today and Spike should have been thanking his lucky stars. He wasn't. Instead he sank to the ground, stretching his long legs out and laying back. Slender fingers laced together and locked behind his head, shielding his crazy brown hair from the grass.

"No need to get snarky, Faye-Faye." Spike said, glancing over at her. "We're all friends here."

Friends. Faye was attracted to that word to the point that she snapped her book closed when he said it. Spike and Faye had been a lot of things, but never that. A word like that, especially as he said it sprawled out and casual in the sunlight, sounded manageable. She could never be his wife, his lover, his enemy, his pseudo sister. But friend she could do, even if his eyes did linger a little below her neck for a couple seconds too long.

"Sure we are." Faye replied coyly as she let her book drop to the grass. She stretched out her own legs and poked him in the ribs with her toe. "Buddies." It was only as he looked at her skeptically that she realized how facetious she had been. She might have blushed a little as she turned her head sharply away, staring pointedly away from him. She didn't want it to be like this. Faye cleared her throat and tried again. "I heard you were on Callisto."

"Yep." Spike affirmed shortly. She stole a glance at him. He was looking up at the sky, that little smile still there.

"Was it because of-"

"No."

"Oh. Right."

A pause.

"That's the only place they don't think to look for you."Spike added by way of explanation.

Faye didn't ask who 'they' were. When it came down to it, she didn't really wanna know. The conversation faltered and Faye fought for something else to say. Silence should have been okay. On the Bebop they sat for hours on that shitty old couch without saying two words to each other (on the rare occasion two words _did _pass their lips, they were usually along to lines of 'Cigarette?' and 'Nope.'). But here she felt sick with awkwardness. There had to be _something _to fight about. Seriously. A moment passed in silence and Faye floundered. When she came up empty handed, she decided it was time to cut and run. And so, with a flourish and a hair flip, she was on her feet and stepping over Spike easily, still debating whether or not to say goodbye.

She hadn't taken a step past him when a callused hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back.

"Hey!" Faye cried out, hopping frantically to keep her balance. "Get off of me!" She turned awkwardly on her one leg to swat him away from her. Cut and run! Cut and run! He wasn't even bothering to sit up, but his dark eyes were amused. As she slammed the book down onto his arm the grip on her ankle disappeared and Spike got a hold of her wrist, bringing her down to her knees with a deft pull. She hit the grass and Spike sat up to greet her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Faye's pulse was pounding fast and strong under his fingertips.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked playfully.

She narrowed her eyes at him teasingly, partially because she knew he couldn't see it behind the shades. "It _is _my house, Spike. I can go anywhere I want."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching her face. "Take those off." He murmured, jerking his head towards what she assumed were her sunglasses. Faye recoiled the slightest bit, but he didn't waver or aid her movement in the least.

"… Why?"

"I wanna see your eyes. Is that so bad?" Spike wasn't anywhere near defensive but he was alarming Faye anyway. She did as she was asked but only very slowly. Once they were off he pulled her even closer, studying her like he never had before. It made her uncomfortable but the only protest she could muster was a weak, "What are you looking at, lunkhead?" She didn't move, didn't breathe. Spike had always scared her a little; now was no exception. When he was done inspecting her he pulled away very quickly and returned to his sprawl, leaving Faye watching him doubtfully from her spot on her knees, an eyebrow cocked and her face twisted into a grimace. His eyes were closed and a satisfied smirk was back on his face as he said, "Yep. It's official."

"What?" Faye shot back, crossing her arms just under her chest.

Spike cracked one eyelid. "I never should have slept with you."

For a long moment, there was silence.

"What the hell!" Faye exploded all at once, grabbing her book and hurling at Spike with all her strength. "You're lucky you ever got a chance you asshole!" Contact. Between bouts of laughter Spike hissed in pain. "I swear to God if I wasn't so drunk that night you'd never have gotten anywhere near me!" She actually hadn't been all that drunk that night, but she didn't pause to consider that fact. Instead, she leapt at Spike and tried to get a good smack in. She'd never thought he'd be such a fastroller. "I wouldn't be surprised if I was the best you ever had! I'm way outta your league you stupid shit!" Faye seemed to have forgotten how agile her good friend Spike was. Her hands might have closed around his neck for a split second, but before she could even blink he had her pinned on her back. His hands were closed around her wrists and he held them over her head, straddling her like he expected her to fight back. But once she was there, looking up at his cocky smile and letting the last of his laughter wash over her, she wasn't all that sure she wanted to leave after all, despite the little voice screaming at her from the back of her mind. (Cut and run! Cut and run!)

"I said I shouldn't have." Spike said, blasé as he leaned over her until their noses almost touched. Faye's mouth turned up in a smirk. "I didn't say I'd neverdo it again." And then she was laughing like she hadn't in a very long time (had she ever been this giddy?)and Spike was leaning down more, his breath warm on her cheek, and pressing his lips very gently to the skin just shy of her left ear. He smelled like Old Spice and musk and the best part of a cigarette and she came very close to nuzzling him just for the satisfaction of skin on skin, even though she was already buzzing with nerves and adrenaline, chaste as their contact was. When the kiss was over he lingered just long enough to whisper very softly in her ear, "Thanks for everything." Then he was standing and strolling away, whistling some old song. Faye stayed just were she was, breathless and dazed, her heart pounding out a steady rhythm to her ribs. It was only as she sat up slowly to watch him dissapear into the house, drawing her legs to her chest as she did so, that his words registered.

Thanks for everything. The pulse throbbing in her ears was telling her that sounded a lot like goodbye.

Spike had just cut and run.

* * *

**A/N: Just clarifying... Celia is Jinn's old girlfreind and Zoe is their daughter. And don't worry, niether has a big part. Thanks so much for reading! **

**Love,**

**Lucy**


	6. Queen of Hearts

**Lucifer's Garden**

**A/N: Aaah! I'm so sorry this took so long! It's terrible, I know. I had it ready last night but it didn't work, so here I am, almost a month late. Before we get started, I wanted to talk to you guys about lemons. There have been some requests, but I'm sticking to what I said before about that particular aspect of this story; It won't be appearing. There are a lot of reasons for this, but the main one is that, as a fifteen year old, I have not had sex. Therefore I don't feel qualified in the least to write something like that. It's also out of consideration for my family and friends (who I force to read this) that I'm not doing it. I think it'd weird them out more than a little bit. There is adult content, but it doesn't go very far. Again, I'm sorry for the delays, I did the best I could. This is one of two physical actionchapters in the story, and let's face it. I suck at writing action. I wanted to make it as good as it could be. I'm actually really excited about this chapter. I think it turned out pretty well. I hope you guys enjoy it, and the next one should be up by the end of April. There may be some slight delays (I'm going to Japan for Spring Break), but hopefully it'll be one of the easier to write. I'm counting on it being differently formatted from these ones; it covers a long-ish period of time, so don't be suprised if chapter seven is a little... different. Well, I love you guys so much and thanks for your amazing reviews! I know I say this every time, but they really mean a lot to me. So here's lookin' at you, kid. Enjoy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, or Spike, or Faye, or Ed, or Ein, or Julia, or Annie, or Mao, or... Wow. The list goes on, huh? ;D**

**Chapter Six: **

**Queen of Hearts**

* * *

**_Holding hands  
Skipping like a stone  
On our way to see what we have done  
The first to speak is the first to lie  
The children cross their hearts and hope to die_**

**-Queens of the Stone Age

* * *

**

When Spike thought about it, which he didn't often do, this wasn't such a big deal. This job of his and everything that came with had become mundane over the years. Gone was the fear, the reluctance to pull the trigger. Of course he was running the risk of dying; hell, that was part of the fun. And the plan had always been to check out before his two packs a day caught up with him, anyway. As he strolled now, casual and heavily armed, down a silent street in one of the trashier neighborhoods of Tharsis City, all he felt was the faint anticipation that he always identified with an old habit still enjoyed. There was no remorse, never would be. This was, after all, the routine.

Spike heaved a sigh and let his cigarette fall from his lips. It hit graphitized concrete and he kept walking, not bothering to grind it out. Dark eyes scanned the empty street around him, lingering on the houses he passed. Peeling paint, bars on the windows, roofs collapsing in on themselves. A baby was crying in one of the houses to the right. There was a scuffle in an alleyway and a short, sharp cry. Spike ignored it, focusing on the warehouse that loomed directly before him across a desert of asphalt. He mentally noted that if the walk had been any longer, he might have had to break out the firearms a little early. Spike was actually surprised; the crucifix strung around his neck usually would have been more than enough to attract interest.

The sound of his footsteps died on the heavy air. His breath felt hot and thick, the darkness almost tangible. Half of the streetlights had burned out and no one had bothered to the replace bulbs. Just as well. Spike passed into the shadow of the warehouse, surprised to find the building in remarkable shape for the neighborhood. Then again, who the hell would wanna mess with these people? (Spike and Alex excluded, of course, for reasons of insanity.)

Heavy concrete doors stood open, leading to nothing but inky blackness. Graceful hands slid into trench coat pockets, fishing around for a few moments before Spike pulled out his Zippo, letting it flare to life as he stepped over the threshold. He held it up high, his little circle of light expanding to reveal a wall and a door directly across from him, the space to his left and right bleeding into shadow. The area was barren, devoid of any furnishings and colder than the night outside was hot. Spike traversed the space in three long strides, his free hand reaching out for the sturdy brass doorknob glimmering viciously in the waning light. The door opened neatly. Spike let his lighter go out.

He had opened the way into what he assumed was the main room of the warehouse. The part of the floor he could see appeared to be concrete, grey and stained from years of water damage. A hoard of white candles led in a sloppy line from two or so yards away from the door to a makeshift altar at what might have been the other end or maybe the middle of a room whose dimensions were completely hidden. It was a good way away, but Spike could make out the chipped wooden table well enough, along with various important looking knickknacks set on it. And of course, seated right alongside her crosses and candles on the altar, just as beautiful as when they were young, Amelia. Their eyes locked and they both paused for a moment, an impossibly sweet smile crystallizing across her face. Impossible as it was to tell, Spike felt like they were alone what seemed to him to be the infinite expanse of the room.

"Mr. Spiegel." She tilted her head to the left just like Alex and Jude had a habit of doing. Her heartbreakingly beautiful voice settled over him, her hair fell glossy and unbound down her back, the blackest black he had ever seen. Violet eyes held his unfaltering gaze, inanely bright against her somber, dark clothing. "Have you come to return my necklace?"

"I'm not sure I can part with it." He answered shortly, his lips rearranging into a smirk. His hands found his pockets, fingers tracing the smooth outlines of his gun. Spike took the first tentative steps forward.

"It must mean so much to you." Amelia said quietly, her eyes flickering to his feet as they moved. "In that case, I want you to keep it."

Spike stopped in his tracks. His finger was itching to pull the trigger. "You're too generous, sister." The echoes kicked the words around for a moment. Amelia regarded him coolly, meeting his gaze once more.

"Please, Mr. Spiegel." She brought her arms up and reached for him, palms up and fingers curled in mid beckon. "You have not yet known the extent of my generosity."

Spike laughed slowly, softly. Russet eyes caught Amelia's gaze and held it. "And you haven't yet known the extent of mine."

He could hear safeties click off and knew then that he was surrounded. It wasn't entirely surprising, not surprising in the least actually, but it definitely wasn't the opportune situation. Especially considering Spike couldn't actually_ see _anyone but Amelia.

"Why don't you tell me your plan, Mr. Spiegel?" Amelia said gently, letting her arms lower. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Was it to come in here and kill me quietly? Execution style to the back of my head? That's the usual protocol, isn't it?"

A shrug. "Sure. But I've never been good about following directions." Spike finally brought his gun into the open, casual about clicking off his own safety. His right eye slid closed and his left snapped to life, feeding Spike the room in shades of red. Fifty or so men with standard hand guns, lined up in two neat rows, twenty five each side. The room itself was fucking huge with plenty of doors and stacks of wooden crates scattered around. If Spike did survive tonight, it would be because of the location.

"I'd guessed that just by looking at you, Mr. Spiegel." Her smile never faltered. Spike wished she would stop saying his name.

"So who's gonna start this thing, anyway?" He said shortly, a challenge written all over his face.

Amelia was silent for a moment, watching him like a cat watched a mouse. She blinked slowly, then spoke. "Feel free, Mr. Spiegel."

Spike's mind ticked for a moment. He surveyed the room, weighed odds, calculated distances, shrinked Amelia and her followers. Jude flickered through his mind, and then Julia, and finally Faye and then his mind shut off completely, leaving him to do what he did best. He brought up his gun, leveled it at a spot in the darkness, and fired. Spike pulled the triggereight times and relished the sound ofeight bodies hitting the ground. He changed hisclip, cool.The echoes died away.

Silence.

"Mr. Spiegel." Amelia said gently. "You are absolved of your sins. I hope the Lord welcomes you as I do."

Gunfire.

Spike took off as soon as it started, plunging into the darkness without a second thought. He could feel the bullets whizzing past him and ran harder because of it, one eye open to the black of reality and the other seeing the room in extreme red-washed detail. There was one of the random stacks of crates a little off to the left and he ran for it, ducking behind them and trying to ignore the sound of snapping wood as the bullets followed him. He peeked out just long enough to get a few shots off and come to the conclusion that all of Amelia's enforcers were men. That suited Spike just fine, although he couldn't say he had any qualms about killing a woman.

As the first of the bullets broke through the crates, he was off and running again. He didn't waste any time wondering how the shooters could see him in the inky darkness, didn't really want to know. All that mattered was that he could see them right back, which he could, and he took advantage of that, firing off several shots as he moved and taking down three or four men in his path. He took a sharp turn, almost skidding as he changed direction, to head towards that makeshift altar in the middle of the room. Amelia was gone. Letting a curse slip from his lips, Spike jerked to a halt, pivoting and bringing his gun back up. Two more shots, two more bodies on the floor. Spike was on the move again, chased by a flood of steel. He caught a glimpse of a door closing and ran faster, heading for it.

Impact.

Spike was breathless for a long moment as he felt a bullet hit him in the back. He stumbled, almost fell, his arms reaching out before him. Palms hit smooth concrete. He pushed himself back up and ran even faster than before, keeping the momentum through the pain. His hands found the wall, the door, and yanked it open.

A hallway. The lights were still off. His left eye adjusted to the milky light from a window at the top of a staircase. Spike's boots pounded the floor hard as he clambered up the steps, struggling to regain his breath as he climbed. A shadow stepped into the middle of the stairway. Spike fired without hesitation, hitting what his left eye identified as another man in the chest twice and jumping over the body as it tumbled into his way. Another shadow, two more shots, one more body on the floor. Spike's boot prints were pounded into the stairs in red.

Spike was startled when he reached the top of the staircase. He skidded to a standstill, faced with two doors and a window. The possibilities for Amelia's escape seemed almost endless. A shot went off and left Spike reeling as it burrowed into his stomach. There was a woman (girl) hunched in the corner, deeper in shadow than Spike had formerly thought possible. She was shaking, her gun leveled, ready to fire again.

"Tell me which way Amelia went." Spike ground out, his voice choked as he struggled for breath. She just watched him with wide eyes. She was young and he she didn't wear one of Amelia's crucifixes.

"I… I can't…" Her voice wavered. All she needed was a little encouragement. That came, because it was Spike after all, in the form of a gun.

"Tell me." He growled. Fat tears trailed down her face but she didn't sob, remained calmer than he would have imagined.

"Left. She went left."

"If you're lying to me I'll kill you."

"But… I'm not!" She pulled the trigger for the second time and it was devastating, a good shot that hit him square in the stomach. Spike's arm snaked around to stop the blood that wasn't flowing.

"Get out of here," He said through his teeth, "before I kill you anyway. Go back home."

"I don't have anywhere to go!" Her voice echoed. She looked like she wanted to shoot him again, so Spike shot the gun out of her hands before she could.

"Find somewhere. Go back to the life you had before. After tonight, this one is over."

The woman (girl) looked at him like no one had before. Cool, clear, a look that resonated. A look that haunted dreams. "I don't have another life. I don't want another life. If this one is over, than so am I."

Spike killed her. Neat, clean, a bullet placed between the eyes, still open. Green, he noted as he reached into his trench coat pocket for a new clip. The old one clattered to the floor, landing next to a growing pool of the woman's (girl's) blood. Red. It spread beautifully across the dirty cement, something pure.

Spike had no qualms about killing a women. ( A girl.)

He took the door that led left.

* * *

Faye was learning very quickly that Jude always got what she wanted, sometimes without saying anything at all. Now was one of those times, and although Faye couldn't say she was _thrilled _with traipsing through the gardens at eleven o'clock (she'd much rather be sleeping) she had figured it was better to go with the flow. And who the hell was she to say no to Jude? Who the hell was _anyone _to say no to Jude?

"Fuck!" The blonde cried out, giddy as all hell. "I fucking love nature! Fuck!"

Actually, Jude hated nature and being outdoors. But Faye was pretty damn sure she was high right now, so she didn't bother reminding her of that little fact. She didn't even bother protesting as Jude hooked one arm with Faye's and the other with her boyfriend Otto, a cute twenty year old with curly dirty blond hair and big, beseeching brown eyes.

"I love it too, Jude. I really, really do." He said eagerly, even though he really didn't, either. What Otto loved was Jude, like a dog loved its master. It was almost sickening, but Faye didn't feel that she was in a position to comment as she was also being dragged through flower beds like a rag doll.

"I mean, shit! Look at it, Faye!" Jude breathed, jerking to a halt and looking down at a skeptical Miss Valentine. (She was in the habit of ignoring Otto whenever possible, poor kid.)"It's amazing! It's so…. Fucking _free_!"

"Yes," Faye mumbled, trying to fix her heel in the short break from half-jogging-half-limping across the lawns. "Free."

"So much freer than all of us. I mean, that flower can do whatever the fuck it wants. It can fucking grow and bloom and die on its own fucking time. It doesn't give a _shit_."

"Wow, Jude, you're so right…" Otto said eagerly. "You're so right…"

They were off again. Jude was laughing and it was all Faye could do not to stare at her like Otto, she was so beautiful. They had just come home from dinner (Spike had been mysteriously absent, something that had bothered her all night) and everyone was dressed up. Jude might have been a nymph, pale and incandescent in a wispy white dress. If her eyes weren't so bloodshot, her shimmery eye makeup running down her translucent cheeks in two ugly lines, she could have passed for a goddess.

They ran on. Flowers were trampled, hills were climbed, the stables passed by without a second glance. No one asked where Jude was going and probably wouldn't have gotten a real answer if they had. Faye's dress, red, whipped uncomfortably around her knees. With every step her heels sank into moist dirt and if it wasn't for her experience as a bounty hunter, Faye may not have made it. She did make it, in fact, although whether that was for better or worse she didn't want to know. When Jude finally decided to stop running, they were at the hedge maze.

Great. That was fucking great.

"Let's see who can get to the center first." Jude said breathlessly as a charmed kind of smile crossed her face. "It'll be fun." Otto was looking at her with the kind of adoration that said, 'I will follow you to the ends of the earth', so Faye figured he was game. She heaved a sigh but nodded her agreement none-the-less. She had the feeling that when she finally got back to the house, she would be wanting a very strong drink.

Thank God Alex kept a very well stocked liquor cabinet.

Faye trudged across the grass to her appointed entrance to the maze and waited while Jude got situated. A moment later, at Jude's cry, they were off. The maze was stupid and Faye hated it, so she didn't even try. Halfway through she gave up and, knowing that Jude wouldn't notice if she left and Otto would like the time alone, turned on her heel and found her way out. Standing just outside the maze, she paused. A glance at her watch told her it was getting close to eleven thirty, a bout of giggles from the maze told her she wouldn't be missed, and a feeling in her gut told her that Spike wasn't back from wherever he had gone. Time to get that drink.

The night, Faye grudgingly admitted as she slipped off her shoes and began back towards the house, was pretty beautiful. Another hot one, lazy in the best of ways, the stars kissing the sky. She thought about a lot while she walked, but mostly Otto and Jude and how he looked at her like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. As Faye found herself on the hill she had last seen Spike on (shit, this morning seemed so far away), she couldn't help but realize that no one had ever looked at her like that and probably never would. But she was being melodramatic, and that was the last thing she wanted. It wasn't like she was a drunken stripper/whore/bartender trying to raise a kid on Ganymede while her ex-lover chased her down. She had no right to complain. Really.

Faye yawned wide and laced her fingers together, stretching up and then locking her hands behind her head. The side of the house was straight ahead, most of the windows dark. She studied them as she drew closer, trying to orient herself. The house's details grew sharper. Faye paused, half in shadow, her brow furrowed.

Movement.

There was a man, relatively short but sturdy and tough looking, making his way across the lawn. He paused at a spot near the wall and crouched down with his back to Faye. A grunt of effort and then he was heaving open some kind of door, half in the wall and half in the ground. Once both of the heavy wooden doors were open, the man slipped through and into darkness.

Faye didn't even have the grace to hesitate. Her arms fell to her sides and she was off, moving carefully towards the door that her memory told her led under the house. She recognized in the back of her mind that Alex would be angry if he caught her snooping around. But, she decided and it brought a smirk to her lips, if he didn't want her to find this place, he should have hired someone who'd close up behind himself.

She'd reached it. Distantly she noticed a hefty padlock off to the side, but if it didn't hinder her endeavor, she didn't give a crap. The doorway led into a steep looking staircase, probably spiral since she didn't see any light to mark the end. Faye dropped her shoes to the ground and stepped lightly through, pausing a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

So far, so good.

The stairway, Faye discovered as she padded down as silently as she possibly could, was rough hewn stone, cold on her bare feet. She moved slowly, her fingernails scraping gently on the stone walls. It was getting colder as she moved down. Goosebumps came to a head on her arms and legs. She began to shiver, her breath a white cloud as she exhaled.

At last she turned a corner and the light hit her like a ton of bricks. Her pupils contracted sharply and she waited it out in silence, lest the man from before pop up. A moment passed. There was no one there. Faye took a few tentative steps forward to find herself in a good sized room. The walls and floors were smooth stone and spotless, the room devoid of all furniture but a metal folding chair in the corner, rusted and crappy, and it desperately tried to catch the bright, overpowering light from an industrial lamp hissing on the ceiling. But she didn't care about that. There was something much more interesting to draw her attention.

On the wall before her was a gate. It was beautiful, more beautiful than she had thought a gate could be. Cool steel glimmered in the light, twisted into graceful vines, molded into flowers, budding and blooming, worked into birds. Faye moved towards it, reached out and twined her fingers around it. The steel was frigid against her skin. She pressed closer, squinting past the tangled metal to see what was beyond the gate. Darkness. Faye pushed. It moved forward an inch or so before it buckled, grinding against a chain padlocked from the inside that she hadn't noticed before. One more try, just for the hell of it. Nothing. Her hand snaked to her hair, grasped a bobby pin, but never pulled it out.

"Faye. What a pleasant surprise."

Alex. Faye drew a sharp breath and dropped both hands to her sides, spinning to face him. He stood at the foot the stairs, his eyebrow cocked and his hair down and brushing his shoulders. His hands were in the pockets of a black pea coat put over a sharp black suit. There was another man a step behind him, silent and stoic. Alex watched Faye for a moment, amused, then slid a hand out of his pocket and held it out to her.

Faye moved forward and took it. His hand was warm. "Wait here. I'm taking Faye back to the house. I'll be back."

With a sharp nod and a curt, "Yes, sir." from the other man, Alex was whisking Faye back up the staircase and towards the heat of the night outside. They ducked back into the garden and he released her hand, stripped his jacket, and caught it again, his fingers lacing through hers. They began to walk, though not towards the house.

"I've told you a million times," Alex started after a moment. "Stay out of my work."

"I didn't know." Faye replied. They wound their way through the grounds until they came to one of the walled gardens. Alex led her in. There was an oak tree in the middle with a tire swing. He gently nudged her towards it. Eyes lingering on his face as they parted, Faye made her careful way to it and sat, wondering what he was up to.

"I worry about you sometimes, Faye." He said concisely, strolling in a lazy circle around the tree. She could tell by looking at him that he wasn't saying it out of any concern for her. The swing began to move as she pushed gently off the ground. "You're restless."

"Is that a sin?" Her hair drifted over her shoulders as she swung backwards.

"It won't make you a saint. You should watch yourself" Alex replied. He paused, leaning against the trunk with his arms crossed. She thought of Spike. The swing eased forward. Faye put her feet down , jerking it to a halt.

"You seem to say that to me a lot."

Violet eyes regarded her impassively. "Then it must be worth saying." Alex pushed off the tree, advancing on her. His hands wrapped around the rope and he leaned towards her until their noses brushed. "Maybe you should listen." His breath was warm on Faye's lips.

"That's never been my strong point." She smiled, tried to laugh it off, but couldn't. Alex was terrifyingly serious for once in his life.

"Obviously." Was the sharp reply. Alex released her suddenly and turned around, crossing the garden in a few quick strides. At the gate, he paused and looked back. Their eyes met. "Don't wait up too long for Spike. He may not be coming home."

Faye sat very still and watched him go, her mind ticking. There were a lot of rooms she'd never seen in Alex King's god forsaken house, but that one was different. That one felt dangerous.

She had to go back.

* * *

Spike ran. It was a long hallway, dark enough to kick his left eye into gear, empty. Windows lined the right side, overlooking the darkened room below. Everything smelled sticky, metallic. Blood with a trace of decomp. There was one door at the end of the hallway and Spike didn't take his eyes off it. That's were he was headed. There had to be armed men behind that door; Amelia wasn't stupid. But Spike didn't care anymore. He had crossed over that beautiful mental threshold. He had gone numb. If it all ended tonight, he probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

At the end of the hall, Spike stopped. His right hand went on the doorknob, his left hand gripped his gun. He paused a moment to catch his breath with his back flat against the door. For whatever reason, he thought of Faye. Then he turned the doorknob quickly, bringing up his gun upon his entrance to the room.

Silence. Silence that was worse than gunfire. The hall had brought him to what might have been an office at some point. It was a square room, relatively small, no furniture. Amelia, who must have been waiting for him, stood at the window.

"My goodness, Mr. Spiegel," She said without looking at him. "That was quite the entrance."

"Thanks," Spike ground out, "I try my best."

She turned to face him, her eyes snapping to his arrogant face. Her beautiful features were grim. "Mr. Spiegel, do you believe in God?"

Spike barely had time to be suspicious. Up came his gun and he fired a nice shot through Amelia's arm, but there were two more he knew weren't his. He couldn't feel the impact, per sea, but he knew they had driven into his back when he found, much to his chagrin, that his body was no longer responding. Spike's knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, palms and knees to cement, gun clattering away.

All he could manage to think was how stupid he'd been.

Amelia's voice came to him from across the room, distant through the pain. She hardly seemed phased by the shot to the arm, although Spike could see a drop of blood fall to the ground before him. "I'm assuming that by your silence, you mean to say that you don't. That's completely understandable, considering what you've been through. But tell me, Mr. Spiegel," She was advancing on him; he could see her feet as they moved. Then, suddenly, they were eye to eye. She had crouched down to his level, two gentle fingers under his chin. Spike drowned in lilac. "How is it that after all this world has done to you, you are still able to stand? How are you able to get out of bed in the morning, keep living, keep loving? If there is no God, Mr. Spiegel, how is possible that you, a man who has lost fathers, friends, lovers, can continue to hope for a better future?"

Spike was beyond speaking, beyond being able to formulate words. All he could manage was a smile, a dangerous, almost feral smile that he was sure many a man had seen in his last moments of life. And then he laughed, and the laugh was even more sinister than the smile.

Amelia's blood slithered through her fingers, dripping lazily to a growing puddle at her feet. Red. She wasn't done. "I'm not going to kill you tonight, Mr. Spiegel." She said, demure. "That seems morally shoddy to me. Cheap. Although not quite as cheap as wearing a bullet proof vest. Though it has been interesting to watch you let us knock your internal organs to a pulp." Another gunshot. Spike discovered that he was past screaming, also. "You're going to get up, Mr. Spiegel, and you are going to walk outside. A car will be waiting to take you back to my brother's house. I'm letting you survive on two conditions. One: You realize that it is God who has allowed you to live this long. Two: Tell Alexander that the next time he wants something done, he should do it himself. Now get out of here."

Spike found himself getting pulled roughly to his feet and pushed out the still open door by two men he hadn't seen upon his entrance to the room. The hallway stretched before him. He staggered forward. Walking was nearly impossible but he did it anyway; he had plenty of practice. He had no doubt that had he been able to feel anything, the pain would have been unbearable. The thought of his own death fascinated him just as it had in his many other moments like this. Spike dwelled on the moment he checked out, on the tunnel of light, on what would come after that. He didn't know, wouldn't until it happened, and was desperately curious about it. As he ambled down the stairs drunkenly, he imagined what would no doubt happen later tonight; the removal of the bodies. He wondered idly what Amelia would do with her follower's remains. What Alex and Faye would do with _his _remains. But this was thinking foreword, and how much easier it was to exist from moment to moment, step to step, breath to breath.

Nothing but the heat told Spike that he was outside. By some miracle he found the car and jerked the door open, half falling inside and much too far gone to worry about whether they were going to drive him to a field and shoot him in the back of the head. All he could manage was to slouch into the cool black leather of the back seat and reach into his pocket for a cigarette. In between lips in went, out came the lighter, and in a moment of gold-washed leather the cigarette caught.

The car began to move. The ride lasted fifteen or twenty minutes which meant they were going fast. They weren't pulled over. At last the car jerked to a screeching halt in what Spike vaguely recognized as Alex's driveway. A staggering exit from the vehicle and an awkward wave left him alone. He turned to the house and began to walk, letting the cigarette fall to the ground and reaching for another. The door was open so Spike let himself in, fumbling in his pockets for his pack. He found it as he reached the staircase, pulled out a white cylinder and slid it in his mouth. His hand found the banister and he pulled himself up the staircase, slow and awkward. Spike knew he couldn't go to Alex like this; hurt, weak, a failure. Not going to the pool house was included in that. He had one option; he had to find her. He had to find her.

Dark hallways. Spike lit his third cigarette of the evening and let it hang from his lips, limp and sad as it was. His footsteps were shuffling, his word spinning. He had to find her. There was a door at the end of one hall in particular. A pair of shoes just outside the door. Her shoes. He had to find her, had to get there. A palm found the doorknob, a knee found the door, and he opened it the only way he could manage; violently.

A bedroom. The door slammed into the wall and Spike stumbled forward. He caught two doggy heads popping up from a bed on the opposite wall. They started barking. The world faded to black. If Spike hit the floor (or when, he supposed, for everything was sideways now and how fuzzy the air had become), he was the last to know. He blinked once, twice, then let his eyes slide closed for the long run. Overall, a relief. Although it was a shame to waste a perfectly good cigarette.

* * *

She should have let him rot. She knew this, Shampoo and Jeremy knew this, the cards her lean fingers manipulated absentmindedly knew this. And she probably would have if she'd had any more sense, but as it was she was a sucker for playing the savior. So now here she was, sitting awake at some ungodly hour pretending to play solitaire as she watched him sleep. It wasn't that she was worried; this was a man who had gotten himself pushed out of a cathedral window and survived. But she wasn't exactly at ease, either.

Faye heaved an irritated sigh and dealt her cards, setting up a pretty little solitaire spread. The game began. The dogs scuffled for a moment before settling down at either side of her, plopping down contentedly on the green velvet comforter. Spike's breathing, steady and deep, seeped into her as she aimlessly flipped cards, each exhalation counted, analyzed, stored away in some distant part of Faye's mind to think back on should it be his last. It wouldn't be. She wasn't stupid enough to think like that.

An ace. She set it down, careful not to touch Spike's heel. He was sprawled out on Faye's bed, forcing her to the end with the dogs. He looked good, peaceful, not even injured too badly. When he had burst into her room and collapsed onto her floor she had thought he was going to die; as it turned out, there wasn't an open wound on him. Just nasty bruises on his chest and back, a few scrapes on his palms and knees. Spike smelled like gunpowder and blood, his shirt and coat ripped to shreds. The bullet proof vest he'd been wearing for maybe the first time ever hung on the back of Faye's vanity chair; she didn't want to know what he had been up to. That was good, actually, because she doubted he'd have the grace to tell her.

Green eyes lingered a little too long on Spike's face as Faye made a few minor adjustments to her game. She blushed, ashamed, and focused down on her spread. She went through her deck, set a few cards down, found another ace. A frown crossed her face. She was stuck.

"You're stuck," A voice rasped out. Faye jumped, her intake of breath sharp. The deck of cards slipped from her hand.

Spike.

"Shut up. What the hell do you know, huh?" Her irritation overshadowed her relief. Faye glanced up from her solitaire game to Spike. His eyes were closed, a cocky little smile on his lips.

"Plenty. More than you, obviously." Eyelids cracked and green met russet. Electric. Faye cleared her throat.

"I don't lose at solitaire, Spike. They call me Poker Alice for a reason." She scoffed, gathering her deck deftly.

His eyes twinkled in the golden light from Faye's bedside lamp. "So than what have you been doing for the last twenty minutes? Because I could have sworn you were losing at solitaire…" Spike trailed off, his voice a challenge.

Faye's eyebrow twitched, her pride kicking into overdrive. "Hey, lunkhead, why don't you play me and find out?" It was out of her mouth before she realized that to Spike's sick mind, that could have been a double entendre.

He was grinning now. "Solitaire is a one-person game, Faye." God, his voice. Rough and quiet, sensual. She wished he'd shut up for once in his life.

"So let's play something else. You pick." Faye began to gather the cards. When they were a neat deck, she started shuffling. Spike sat up, a grimace crossing his face as he scooted up to put his back against the headboard. He brought his knees in to sit cross-legged like Faye.

"Hearts." He suggested. He was laughing at her in his own fucked up way.

"That's no fun with two people." She countered easily.

"So then spoons."

"There's no challenge in that."

"Alright. We'll settle this man to woman. War." Spike was still smiling.

"Fine. War." Faye dealt the cards quickly, splitting the deck between them. Round one went to Spike, round two to Faye, three and four to Spike. Faye got tired of losing pretty fast.

"So how long was I out?" Spike asked casually ten or so minutes into the game.

A shrug. "An hour and a half or so, you drama king. You aren't even hurt that bad."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Because you know," Spike drawled.

"I've been shot before." Faye retorted. She had the scar to prove it.

"Yeah," Spike confirmed almost darkly. "I was there." A moment passed in silence. Shampoo and Jeremy changed positions, curling up against Faye's body. They were warm. A few more rounds played out. Faye won all but one. She could feel Spike' s eyes on her, studying her every move.

"You're cheating." He announced randomly as Faye won a war. He was casual about it, not angry in the least. Then again, she had rarely seen him angry and, surprisingly enough, didn't want to.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Spike." Was the haughty reply. She set down a card. He caught her wrist, held it just firmly enough so that she knew she couldn't get away.

"I can prove it." Still smiling.

With a little pull, Spike had Faye on her knees. Another and she was against his chest, the bandages she had wrapped around his torso for no real reason rough against the skin of her palms. Faye didn't dare to breathe. The fingers of his free hand trailed up her thigh and she felt ill in the best of ways, her pulse pounding in her ears as they slid under her boxers. A moment later they emerged, a card pinched between the thumb and forefinger. The Queen of Spades.

"So do you cheat at everything?" He asked coyly as he inspected the card, his eyes sparkling with contained mirth.

"No." Faye pulled the card from Spike's grasp and tucked it back where it belonged. She was acutely aware of his hand on her wrist, the other resting lightly on her thigh. "Besides, you're a card counter. I call it even." She crossed her arms under her chest, cocking her eyebrow at him.

"Queen of Spades…" Spike mulled it over. "Are you planning on shooting the moon, Faye?" She was losing her cool rapidly. Faye tried to pull away casually but Spike's hands locked on her hips. He was taunting her now, eyes narrowed almost seductively.

Son of a bitch. Two could play that game.

"We're not playing hearts, Spike." She murmured huskily, letting her hands slide from his chest to cradle the back of his neck. His lithe body stiffened at her touch. All of a sudden he was serious, deadly serious, and one of his own hands moved to the small of her back.

"Aren't we?"

The words settled over them. Faye's mind was ticking frantically and drawing a blank. That was dangerous, more dangerous than any room in Alex's house could ever be. As if to illustrate the disconnect between mind and body, she found herself leaning into his bruised chest, her lips gently brushing the skin where his neck met his shoulder. She thought she could hear him growl low in his throat, but it was so soft that there was always the possibility she had imagined it. But then she was kissing up his neck and she didn't care anymore, didn't know anything but the feel of his skin on hers, the warmth of his body. A nip on his earlobe and she was turning her head, laying butterfly kisses on his right cheek, nearing his lips, feeling nauseous with adrenaline and nerves. She was almost there when Spike caught her, cupping her cheeks in his rough hands. Their eyes met, the tips of their noses almost brushing.

"This can't happen." He murmured.

Faye reeled. She hadn't realized how much she wanted him until he had told her no. For a moment they sat in silence, their bodies pressed together, breath mixing, eyes searching. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. She _couldn't_.

"It already has." Faye whispered.

That was enough.

* * *

Reality hit hours later as they lay side by side, stiff as boards, in the fleeting grey light of predawn Mars. The air in the bedroom was thick with the heat of the upcoming day and the deep silence of regret. They had fucked up. Badly.

"That was stupid." Faye choked out to solidify their mistake.

"Yeah." Spike replied shortly. With a groan he sat up, swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, and pulled on his clothes. Faye watched in silence from her spot, the sheet wrapped tight around her.

"That was really stupid."

He shot her a look over his shoulder, russet eyes more amused than anything else. "I think we've established that." Spike stood, stretching up to the ceiling. His face contorted in pain for a moment but then he was over it, grabbing his useless shirt and coat from their spot balled up on the floor and moving across the room to the door.

Faye sat up, resting her back against the headboard. "What do we do?"

Spike shrugged. "Not tell anyone, I guess." He reached out for the doorknob, turned it. He was about to open the door when Faye flew from her spot to the end of the bed, trampling the long forgotten cards on her way.

"Hey!"

He paused, releasing the doorknob to turn back to her. "What?"

Hesitation. Then, flustered and rushed, "When will I see you again?"

Spike was silent for a long moment, looking at her like an endearing idiot. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, said, "Tomorrow. The pool house. Whatever time is good for you."

Faye watched, stunned to silence, as Spike slipped out into the hall. The door clicked closed behind him. Absently and almost in a daze, she picked up one of the cards scattered across the bed.

Queen of Hearts.

* * *

**A/N: So... yeah. I know it's a little mixed up, but the title is actually referring to Amelia. I'll let you guys puzzle out the Queen of Hearts Faye picks up at the end. :) I love you guys and hopefully I'll see you in April. **

**Take care of yourselves! (and each other, if we wanna be Jerry Springer...)**

**Lucy**

_Next time on Lucifer's Garden: Alex and Spike have a chat about the future, Faye buys a wedding dress, and Spike receives an offer he couldn't refuse if he wanted to. It is, after all, Jude_ _that's proposing it. And with Faye backing it up... Well, that's two to one. _


	7. Summertime Samba

**Lucifer's Garden**

**A/N: So we're a few days early this time! Yay! It would have been up sooner, but I decided, hey, maybe I'll actually focus on school for once! So I did, and I intend to do it for the rest of the year up 'til the end of June. Updates could be slow but I'll do my absolute best. I don't like this chapter much; it's another one of those damn transitional chapters. Keep in mind that by the end of the last scene, it's late July/early August. **

**Disclaimer: The easter bunny left me a tiara, some peeps, and a pound of pink bon-bons. No Cowboy Bebop. :( I guess there's always next year!**

**Special Thanks: **Thanks much to the people who reviewed last chapter! I appreciate in immensly. Space raider, Goshikku Seirei, Susy, anonymous, zottie, Moody Maud, Crimson Cape, theevilashleyness, CrAzy-Fan-Fic-Addict, seal-chan, Oyuki, H TO THE ISO, BunnWw, Sealeena, and my two coolsies My Space buddies:D

**Chapter Seven: **

Summertime Samba

* * *

**_Don't get mad if I'm laughing  
_****_Blame the caffeine for all the _****_5 am_****_ phone calls  
_****_I haven't slept a single night in over a month  
_****_And not even once did you start to make sense to me _**

-**Hot Hot Heat

* * *

**

It was twelve hours (give or take) after Spike slunk out of Faye's room that Alex caught wind of his return and, apparently, his failure to dispose of Amelia. The summons this time came courtesy of Jude.

He had been sleeping. It was the first time in a long time, actually, and Spike found it was actually nice. But Jude had a bad habit of wreaking peace in the quietest of ways, and she took advantage of this remarkable talent often. Today, it was his turn.

"Spike." The mattress compressed as she slipped easily on the bed next to him, blue eyes half-lidded and bright. Spike had heard the door open and, in some dark corner of his mind, hoped it was Faye. Obviously it wasn't. Minimal disappointment.

"Jude." He all but grunted, cracking his eyelids to get a look at her. Her hair hung around her face in a platinum cloud, catching the light lucidly. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged prettily, blinking slowly. It was irritating; she acted like she knew his every thought. "Just came to see you." She poured herself down to lay beside him.

"Why?"

"Because."

Spike knew Alex had sent her when that was the only reason she could come up with. Although, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that that was all the reason she needed. "What did Alex send you to tell me?"

Jude smiled and inched closer. "He wants to see you in his office."

Crap.

With a groan and a sigh Spike heaved himself out of bed, beginning a search for a shirt. He heard Jude's breath catch, but didn't bother glancing over his shoulder to see what was wrong. He'd find out soon enough.

"Spike, what happened?"

"I fell down some stairs." He lied easily. The bruises across his back and chest were beginning to turn purple and yellow. They looked nasty but, as Spike had discovered the previous night, didn't hurt so bad. Or maybe he had just been distracted.

Jude wasn't buying it. "You never tell me anything. No one ever tells me anything." She sighed, exasperated, and flipped onto her stomach so she could bury her face in the pillow. Spike shot her a look. He pulled on a fresh shirt, lean fingers dancing up the buttons. A smirk slipped across his features. If only she knew.

"The blue office, right?"

"Yeah." Jude said into the pillow. Her muffled voice sounded dejected. "The blue office."

With a casual wave goodbye Spike was off, circumnavigating the pool and cutting across the lawn. For the first time since Spike had arrived from Callisto, Alex had left the climate control guys to do their own thing. It was warm still, but not muggy in the least. A nice breeze was going. It was almost a shame to go inside, but go inside Spike did. He found the appropriate office easily enough and, in a moment of reckless courage, strolled on in.

Alex, of course, was expecting him. He was leaning against that desk of his, an old book in his hands. Disinterested, he thumbed through it. When he heard the door open and close, violet eyes glanced up idly. A patronizing little smile appeared on his face.

"Spike. Sit down."

He did as he was told. Alex went back to his book, letting the hush dominate for a moment. Then, all at once, he snapped the book closed and tossed it lightly to his desk. The thud of leather on wood resounded.

"You sent Jude to get me." A statement.

Amusement made violet eyes sparkle. "You're sure catching on fast, Spike-o. I've always admired that about you."

"Can we just get this over with?"

Alex looked almost surprised that Spike would rather get down to business. "Sure. You didn't do what I asked you to."

A shrug. "I told you I couldn't take out an establishment in one night. You can't blame me for failing to do the impossible."

Alex reached behind him and pulled a gun around on the wood, setting it neatly on the desktop beside him. It was Spike's Jericho. "Amelia sent this back today. The clip is empty."

Spike reached for the gun but a glance from Alex made his muscles freeze in mid motion, purple eyes half lidded and so dangerous they made even Spike's blood run cold. "I want you to know something, Spike-o." He said, his voice low. Spike eased back in his chair, a cocked eyebrow letting the other man know he was listening.

"Failure is cute in your twenties, Spike." Alex began concisely, crossing his arms across his chest and sizing him up. "You're handsome as all hell, up-and-coming, got real talent. People don't care if you fuck up because there's always next time. You had pull in your twenties, you had charm." A pause and it was excruciating. "How old are you now, Spike? Thirty-two?"

"Thirty-one." A half-hearted correction.

"Same fucking difference. You've peaked, Spike. It's over. Amber is dead and Amelia isn't. You're starting to look incompetent."

"I was perfectly competent, Alex. She was ready for competent." Spike defended himself languidly. He didn't care, anyway.

Alex slid away from the desk, crossing the room to the window. He spoke with his back turned. "Thirty-one. Two packs a day. Good shape. Considering your profession, how long do you give yourself to live?"

"Ten years tops." An honest answer, although it sounded like shit when he put it like that. Alex turned to Spike slowly, thoughtfully. Purple eyes burrowed into brown, searching and coming up with nothing.

"How long are you going to wait, Spike? I'm not going to choose for you."

"I've never asked you to. I've never asked for any of this."

"Well, you have it. And you have to choose one way or the other. Ten years?"

"Ten years." What an ugly confirmation.

Spike knew as a look crossed Alex's face, a certain look he'd seen a million times before, that he would be merciful today, just like he'd been merciful when Amber had died. Or maybe he knew, in his heart of hearts, that without Spike he was nothing. "We'll start planning a large-scale operation tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off. And just for good measure, stay out of my way."

With a chuckle and an arrogant smirk, Spike stood sloppily, cramming his hands into his pockets. Fingers curled around the crucifix that lurked there. "Sure. Office at eight?"

"Office at eight."

"See you there."

"Hey, Spike-o?"

Spike stopped halfway to the door and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you fucking Faye?" Neat, short, a shot to the heart. Spike was speechless, letting the panic wash over him and ebb away before he even thought about what to say. He knew. Of course he knew. This was his house, Faye was his fiancée. She'd probably told him. He'd probably known it would happen all along. He was in a good mood today which was a relief, but Spike recognized that this could get nasty. In a way though, it was good. Because it was only a one-time thing, or maybe two. It'd be good to have a concrete reason to stop. Not that he didn't have one already.

Alex let the silence drag on for what must have been an eternity. Then he burst out laughing, almost doubled over with mirth. "I'm just kidding." He said between gasps of air and barks of laughter. "God, I wish you could've seen your face…" Another gasp. "Fucking classic…" Laughter. Then Alex composed himself, surprisingly quickly, actually. "I know you wouldn't sleep with Faye. You're smarter than that. But forget about the office tomorrow."

Spike swallowed hard, trying to fight the feeling that this would be worse than the office. "What?"

A grin lit up the room. "I want you to help us pick out Faye's wedding dress. You've got good taste. We'll leave at noon, grab some lunch, then start shopping. Jude's coming, and those two old people, too."

"Jet and Alyssa?" This was very grave, indeed.

"Yeah. Those ones. So plan on it. Noon tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay, Alex. Whatever you say." Spike got out of there as fast as he could, shutting the door firmly to block out any more of Alex's great ideas. Spike wasn't the most proactive of guys, but he would've killed to get out of taking Faye wedding dress shopping. If only Alex had given him that option…

Spike wound his way through the house, finding himself in the entry hall. As he turned to head out the front door, a voice rang out.

"Spike." His name. He was instantly at attention, knew it was Faye. Her voice floated down from the stairs she stood on, halfway to the second floor and gripping tight to the banister. Her hair floated dark around her elbows, her legs long and flawless in cutoff shorts. Spike wanted her.

"Hey there, Faye." He said causally, turning to face her. She was smiling, a pretty, almost ferocious smile that was oddly endearing.

"Got a few hours?" Faye said. She began down the stairs, one step at a time, in no hurry.

"Only if I get to spend them with you."

She laughed gently, holding out her free hand to him. By the time he took it, he had already given up hope that this would be the last time.

* * *

The day dripped lazily away. Dust motes and steam ran easy laps in a stream of light that filtered in through the window and hit a spot on the tile floor pointedly. Faye's fingers dug into her scalp, willing the dregs of the conditioner away. The water beat a steady rhythm on her back and she loved it, always had. It was good to wash the day away, necessary to wash the smell off of her.

Dinner: Two hours and counting.

The knobs squealed as Faye turned them sharply, cutting the water. Out she stepped, wrapping a towel tightly around her body. The bathroom was steamy. Crossing easily to the mirror, Faye wiped the condensation impatiently away. The woman staring back wasn't her, but she had gotten used to that. Hands grabbed at the first hairbrush she could find and began ripping it through long strands of hair. She wrinkled her nose; she could smell Spike all over her. Her skin, her hair, the room around her. Everything reeked of him and his stupid cigarettes. The second Alex took Faye's arm he would know.

She didn't even want to think about what he'd do when he found out. What she would be forced to give up just because she'd been a little stupid.

Water pooled at her feet. The brush dragged through her hair. One stroke, two. Green eyes fell on scissors in the slightly open drawer. She paused halfway to the ends of her hair. Carefully, she reached into the drawer and pulled them out. Green eyes flitted to the face in the mirror, some woman she had never met, wouldn't want to if given the chance. It'd be easy, it'd be so easy to just do it. And then it would be better. It really would.

Faye cut the air with two test snips. Then she finished brushing her hair, set down the hairbrush, and began.

She had always liked her hair short, anyway.

* * *

They moved in a pack. Alex and Jude in the front (only they knew where the hell to go) then Faye. Alyssa and Jet strolled behind her like the good buffers they were, and Spike lagged behind. Faye didn't know why he of all people would come on the quest for a wedding dress, but just over twenty four hours after he had collapsed on her floor, he was looking chipper and, unless she was mistaken, highly amused.

"I still can't believe you cut your hair. Just like that!" Alex was moaning. Faye had always been good at ignoring people. "It looked so good long. We should've talked this over, Faye, really, and now it's all asymmetrical…" It'd figure that Alex would be upset about the haircut. The long, layered look had been a brainchild of his. But with her hair back in its short, unusual bob that had characterized the Bebop days, Faye was infinitely more comfortable with the whole situation.

The hoard of Monticello-Kings walked on, passing ritzy shops and outdoor cafes. This part of town smelled of new clothes and fifteen woolong cappuccinos; Faye loved it despite herself, and Alex knew it if the indulgent taking of her hand was any indication. "We'll come shopping here next week if you want. Anything you want if you'll fix your god damn hair." Spike was looking on with interest. Faye just shrugged.

"We'll see."

There was laughter towards the back of the group. Spike no doubt. Alex smiled dangerously down at her, managing to make the sinister gesture beautiful. He pulled her, and the rest followed, through an open door. All at once Faye was visually hit by a wall of chiffon.

A shudder ran up her spine.

An entire boutique full of wedding gowns.

"Mr. King! Miss Valentine!" A dapper man practically jumped them, shoving flutes of glistening champagne into their hands. "It's delightful to see you. Miss Judith, Mr. Spiegel." Nods of recognition. Faye didn't ask. "If you'll just take a seat," He gestured to a sunny, circular room just beyond a cream brocade curtain. "we'll start bringing in some choices."

Everyone was ushered neatly into the room. Jet, Alyssa, and Spike took seats on the plush sofa that formed a half circle at the wall. Jude stood in a stream of sunlight, picking through veils. Alex steered Faye, and unwilling participant, to a raised platform in the center of the room. She stepped up, reluctant and embarrassed, the polished marble cool on her now bare feet.

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence. Then came the dresses. Hoards of them, enough to make even Spike's eyebrows lift quizzically. Alyssa let out a surprised 'hmmph', Jet choked on his own spit. Alex and Jude, used to an excess of everything, were completely unfazed.

"Alright, pumpkin," Alex said a little too sweetly as two sharply dressed clerks hauled the gowns to a large dressing room on the wall opposite the couch. "You try on each dress, then come out and show us, okay?"

Faye took a hearty gulp of her drink and nodded.

Dress one.

Faye stood, uncomfortable, on the marble platform, a monster in a horrible gown. Spike, Alyssa, and Jet looked horrified, Jude looked interested, and Alex did laps around her, considering.

Spike: (deadpan) You look like a yeti.

Alex: Next dress.

Dress two.

Alyssa: I like this one.

Jet: It's nice. A little…

Spike: Grotesque?

Jet: (mortified) I was thinking busy.

Alex: Next dress.

Dress Ten.

Jet: (uncomfortable clearing of throat)

Alyssa: (Swallowing hard) That's… interesting.

Jude: I like it.

Spike: You would.

Alex: You look like a whore, Faye. Next dress.

Dress twenty-something.

Alex: There's something off about this one.

Jude: It's the color. Too beige.

Spike: It should be black.

Awkward silence gripped the room. The man who'd greeted them placed a shocked hand to his heart. Faye grimaced and knocked back a fresh glass of champagne. She turned around and shuffled back to her dressing room.

By the end of the day, she hoped to be wasted.

Dress thirty-ish.

For a long time, Faye just stood behind the curtain in the safety of her dressing room. She was breathless. She couldn't do anything but stare at herself in the mirror, pose occasionally, and let the tears of shock and awe well in her eyes. Faye didn't want to go out, didn't want the vultures to rip apart her perfect dress fantasy. Because this was, without a doubt, the perfect dress.

The bodice was satin and tight, perfectly flattering as it moved past her hips and hung straight down, pooling at her feet. It was simple, beautiful, finely made and luxurious.

Someone, probably Spike, cleared his throat outside. Faye's eyes snapped to her face in the mirror. The crazy part of her, the part that imagined white picket fences and blooming gardenias in the hazy moments before she went to sleep, wanted Spike to see this dress. When she stepped out from behind the curtain, she realized why.

For a long moment, there was no sound but Faye's own astonished breaths. Jude and Alex were gone, probably digging through mountains of gowns for more options, and Jet and Alyssa were wide-eyed and silent. It was only Spike, always casual, who spoke.

"That's the one." He said simply, watching through half lidded eyes as Faye took her place on the marble platform. Her heart did a painful flip in its cage and she could feel the blood rising to her cheeks.

"You're beautiful, Faye." Alyssa confirmed with a sidelong glance at Jet. They shared a smile and Faye felt the overwhelming urge to giggle. This was good, this was really good, and felt really excellent.

Of course, the wondertwins always had to ruin everything. With a bark of laughter from Jude and the massive tumbling of gowns through the doorway from the shop proper, they appeared. "Hey, that's a nice one!" Jude said, kicking dresses out of the way to get to Faye. Her hands found her hips and the head went to the side. She looked like and insolent child.

"It is nice." Alex moped. "But I really wanted a fairy princess dress."

Faye was going to vomit.

"Yeah," Jude concurred. "That would be better. A fairy princess dress."

"Mr. King!" The sales clerk interjected, the sudden movement almost giving Faye a heart attack. "We can alter it! We can do anything you want to it! Just say the word, Mr. King, and it's done!"

Faye's blood ran cold. Alex looked calculating. He took a lap around her, studying the dress.

"The word," He said at last, "is pouffy."

And in one moment, Faye's childhood wedding dreams were dashed.

* * *

Of course, Jet was used to being out of control. Spend a year tromping through space with Spike and Faye and you learn pretty fast how to surrender to the dumb luck they appeared to rely on solely. But that didn't mean he liked to be uninformed: quite the contrary. If he was going to let the blind lead (or combat, possibly, depending on moods) the blind, he at least needed to know, to understand, the situation. And when it was something big like this, didn't he _deserve _to know?

Jet, it appeared, was also used to frustration and indignation.

"Spike looked nice today," Alyssa observed, docile, from the bathroom where she was combing her hair. "Tired, but happy."

"You don't have to hint, Alyssa." Jet replied as he lit a cigarette out of their bedroom window. He was trying to cut back (the doctors kept insisting he had the lungs of a man twice his age), but he figured this was a special occasion. "I already know."

Alyssa gave a curious chirp and set the brush on the counter, padding into the room. The comforter rustled as she sat at the end of bed. "Did they tell you?" She sounded almost amused.

"No. You?

Her gentle laughter settled over the room. "No."

"So how do you know?"

"I'm a bartender, Jet. It's my job to know these things. How do _you_ know?"

Jet crushed the cigarette into the windowsill and turned to Alyssa with a shrug. "The way they were looking at each other, talking to each other. Unmistakable." With a sigh he ran a rough hand over his scalp. "Do you think Alex knows?"

She was smiling. For whatever reason, maybe because the first time she'd met Faye had been in the midst of the disastrous fling with Spike almost two years ago, Alyssa had always hoped silently that they would end up together. Eve Jet had to admit they made quite the pretty couple. But, as they had all learned, being attractive standing together didn't mean a damn thing when it came to compatibility.

However skeptical Jet was of Spike and Faye's relationship, he wasn't surprised that they'd found each other again.

But that didn't mean he was happy about it. Stupid little shits.

"Sweetheart, Alex wouldn't be able to catch them together if we gave him a list of times they meet and a map. He doesn't know."

"That's true. Good. Okay."

Alyssa eyed him skeptically. "You still don't like it."

"No, I don't like it."

"That they're together or that they didn't tell you?"

Jet was silent for a long moment, turning back to the window. Alyssa was patient, had always been patient, and he loved her for it. She was the only inherently good person in the world (except for Ed, maybe) and that tended to lead her to believe in the goodness of the rest of the world. Jet wanted to keep her back, wanted to protect her from people like Spike and Alex and the characters that hung out in the shadows of her bar. He had to stop himself, sometimes physically restrain himself, from sheltering her completely. She wouldn't want it, was stronger than she let on, and if she left him again Jet was sure the world would end.

"Just that they didn't tell us."

"You know, Jet, they're adults. They don't owe us any explanation."

"Hey, I had to feed their sorry asses for a year. They owe me a hell of a lot more than an explanation."

"If they're happy, that's all that matters."

Jet gave her a look, something vague, over his shoulder. "You really think they're happy?" He couldn't expect her to know Spike like he did, to know about that Julia woman. God, how he'd grown to hate that name. That name and the sad smiles it brought to Faye's face.

But Alyssa was observant, and Jet should've known she'd already guessed it. "Whatever happened in the past, Jet, it really messed them up. But Spike and Faye, at this moment, are as happy as they're going to get."

Jet knew, although he didn't like it, that what Alyssa was saying was the truth. In all likelihood, Spike and Faye would never really be happy together, not in the way Jet knew happiness with Alyssa. But he also knew Spike, and he could tell that those sixteen months on Callisto had been hell for him just by looking at him. Maybe they'd never be happy together, really happy, but in a lot of ways it was better than being apart.

Jet had been a cop. He was used to, maybe more than anything, choosing the lesser of two evils.

* * *

The affaire, if that was even the right word for it, continued. And in the beginning, Spike and Faye were optimistic. They were sure, if not of their devotion to each other (and they were anything but devoted), of the ease with which they could sneak away from the Kings and do whatever the hell they wanted for a large chunk of the long summer afternoons. Spike liked it being easy, although he must have known subconsciously that even if it'd been hard to see Faye at all he still would have done it. It was good to have someone to be with, someone to talk to, and the fact that he was blowing off enough sexual energy to let June and a healthy chunk of July slip by him in a pleasant haze was an added bonus. There were no romantic fantasies mixed up in their relationship; Spike and Faye looked at it head on and called it what it was. Stupid, wrong, and a risk they certainly didn't need to take for a little fun. That didn't phase them a bit.

Of course, there were no commitments, no obligations. Spike wasn't interested in any strings, especially when a woman like Faye was involved. And Faye, well, she already had a ring on her finger (one she refused to take off even as her fingers deftly unbuttoned Spike's shirt), so there was no pressure coming from her. Spike studied her ring often, mostly when she was asleep (fetal position, usually on top of the sheets because it was fucking _hot _in the summer), and came to the conclusion a million times over that it was gaudy, overbearing, and in bad taste. There was also the issue of what it symbolized, although he wasn't they type to brood about it unless it was late and he couldn't sleep. Even then, the realization that he didn't exactly want Faye to be with another man was slippery and he never did manage to get a good grip on it. He figured that she was still technically with _him _because she'd never actually _sleep _with Alex, considering he'd tried to kill her sixteen months ago. So the ring meant nothing, absolutely nothing, but that didn't mean that he liked to see her wearing it. Not once did she take it off when she was with him.

Often enough during the first two summer months (and also the first months of their post-engagement relationship) Spike had his moments of doubt. His mother had been (probably still was) a staunch Catholic and had engrained in her only child a strong (however prone to exclusion) sense of guilt. Evil as Alex was, 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife' was still a commandment and Spike was definitely breaking it considering that not only was Alex his neighbor but also his boss and his one time friend. The general justification came when a) Faye came to see him or b) he realized that he was not, despite his upbringing, Catholic and that he was going to Hell anyway. Often enough the second excuse reminded him of his father, which made sense. In the end, his mother hadn't ever been able to distinguish between Spike and the man she'd married, and that had been the problem with that relationship.

Of course, Spike was alive and his father wasn't, and that had been the problem with _that _relationship.

But all things aside, Spike and Faye were generally very comfortable with their moral transgression, and good at hiding it besides. They went out together with the rest of the Kings almost ever night and by the time Faye brought up Venus, a topic Jude had eagerly approached him about days earlier, they'd gotten good at pretending to be indifferent to each other. Maybe it was this talent for apathy that allowed Spike to forgo all thoughts of the greater good and even consider going to Venus. Or maybe it was that Faye the one who really asked him.

"You know," She'd said one afternoon at the tail end of July, beautiful in the failing sunlight. "They go to Venus every year for Jude's birthday." By 'they' she'd meant the Kings.

Spike, of course, had known this. He'd gone three years in a row as Alex's personal guest and once before, for what must have been Jude's ninth, because Alex had been a big financial power in the syndicate and they'd sent Spike to look out for some of the more powerful men who'd decided to show their appreciation. But there was something about Faye, about the way she said it, that made him want to listen. It was late afternoon, after they were done doing whatever they did during their time together. He'd made something that'd said it was macaroni and cheese on the box but had turned out orange and kind of globby, and Faye was sitting cross legged on the kitchenette counter, shoveling it out of a plastic bowl and into her mouth. Spike just watched her, his lower back pressing into the edge of the island.

"Yeah, I know. What about it?" He crossed his arms and a smirk played across his face because he didn't know what else to do. Seeing her like this, smudged mascara and fucked up hair in nothing but one of his shirts, depressed him about as much as it pleased him. The net result was a kind of pleasant indifference.

"They're making me go."

An eyebrow lifted. "Are you surprised?"

Faye laughed a little and swallowed hard, dropping the bowl with a clatter into the sink. "No. But I don't want to go alone." She was looking at him expectantly.

A moment passed as Spike considered. But he wanted to tease her, make her squirm. (Like he even could.) "But you won't be. Jude and Bijou will be there. I thought you were all such good friends…"

She unfolded her long legs, letting her feet hang over the edge of the counter. Her palms found the smooth marble and she leaned forward the slightest bit. "Jude's asked you to come, hasn't she?"

Spike shrugged. "Sure."

"Tell her you'll come. You've gone before. And this time you actually have some incentive." A small, arrogant smile crossed her lips. Faye was playing him like she'd played a million other men right in front of him. But Spike couldn't deny he was getting some kind of sick pleasure out of her manipulation.

"You know, Faye, Venus isn't so bad. I bet you'll have fun even if I'm not there." And Venus really _wasn't _so bad. But it was a planet of excess and Jude was a creature addiction and it was hard for someone with Spike's history to stay straight in that kind of environment.

"Spike," Faye said. She paused for a moment, her lips parted ever-so-slightly. He crossed the five or so feet that separated them for no reason other than he wanted to touch her, to make sure she was real. And Faye didn't object, reached to him, let him wrap his long arms around her. She tucked her head under his chin and nuzzled his neck. Unfortunately for him, when it came down to it Spike, although very fucked up and quite possibly in love with a ghost, was only a man. Faye had the power here. "Come with me?"

He loved that she was asking him. "What's the magic word?" He whispered into her ear as his fingers found the buttons of the shirt she wore.

"Please come with me." Faye was smiling and Spike could hear it in her voice. She languidly swatted his hand away as she pulled back. He kissed her because he could.

"Your breath stinks." He observed smugly as he moved for the shirt again. Faye's smile widened. She seemed to know him well enough to guess that that was as close to a clear cut 'yes' as she'd ever get.

"Yeah, and your cooking sucks. That shit is congealing in my throat." She was laughing.

Spike kissed her again.

Oh, what an evening they had.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: Soo... yeah. Don't really like it, but I hope you guys did. Sorry abou the script thing, but I've never understood people who write like that and I thought I'd give it a try. It was a lot faster, actually. Hmmm... J/K. I think I'll stick to my beloved, "He said, She said"s. So I'll see you guys later!  
**

**Love and lots of non-denominational, non-Easter kisses!**

**Lucinda.**

_Next time on Lucifer's Garden: We're off to Venus and it's one hell of a ride. Hey, it's Jude's favorite planet for a reason. And don't worry! Happy birthday is easy to sing when you're high. Take a swim, take a hit, swallow the worm,and try to make it to the toilet in time. Vomit stains on Italian silk are a bitch. **Session 8: Bloody Eye Boogie Woogie**_


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